Mission of Civilization
by Mysterious Dark Lord v3.2
Summary: The Thirteenth Tribe has been found - and they are in a state of savagery. To protect humanity, the Twelve Tribes must re-establish civilization among the barbarian stars. Despite the threats of the Cylons, the Successor Lords of the Inner Sphere, and the dark alien powers ...
1. Chapter 1

_**Unknown star system.  
75th Day, Season of Spring, 7352nd Year of Time  
4th yahren of the Great Exodus**_

_Adama's Journal_

_We are almost a yahren past our last battle with the Cylons, when we lost the Battlestar _Pegasus_. There has been only one encounter since, which makes us believe that we have passed beyond the far boundary of Cylon space._

_Today marks the fourth anniversary of the destruction of our homeworlds. This day has no special name yet, as the events it commemorates are too raw and painful, but most people refer to it as 'The Fall'. Already traditions have emerged. In the assembly hall of the _Galactica_, our people have taken to placing likenesses of those that they lost with memorial lights. I went to place images of Zac and Lia, only to find Apollo and Athena already there. Since my likenesses were older, they allowed mine to be placed, but insisted on the extra memorial lights. Later I saw many images with multiple memorial lights. I think that each individual family member placing a memorial light for a loved one will become the custom. I approve of this, because everyone should have the option of signifying their personal grief._

_The Quorum of Twelve has been especially contentious of late. The current Quorum, having been elected in the wake of the Prison Barge Incident, has virtually no political experience, and as a consequence, their arguments have become increasingly vocal over trivia. _

_Three time-cycles ago, after the fourth tied vote - on the proper distribution of excess luxury clothing, of all idiotic things - I invoked the Law of the Presidium, calling for the President to stand down, and a new member-at-large to be elected to the Quorum for a one-yahren period who would be invested with the position of President. They tried to call it to a vote, but I was able to show that after three or more tied votes, it was mandatory under the Law of the Colonies and not itself subject to a vote. And as I pointed out, it amounted to a reduction of my martial-law authority. They liked that. The next time-cycle, the Fleet elected Siress Tinia of Aquaron, the only ex-Quorum member untainted by the Prison Barge Incident, as President._

_Tinia is an intelligent and insightful woman and has a very strong notion of civilian prerogatives, but she is rather abrasive. It may be that after the Prison Barge Incident, her attitude toward the military may have mellowed somewhat. But I take comfort in the knowledge that she has half a century of political experience, more than all the current Quorum combined, and their childish games mean nothing to her. So now that I have locked the children in a cage with a wild beast, I can relax for a while._

_I weary of the pettiness and surreal nature of politics. I know from history that my ancestors - the High Lords of Caprica - were actually bred and trained from birth to deal with these matters for their entire lives. I give my ancestors my pity. All but Sire Agathon, who was the last true High Lord of Caprica and who served as the first Representative of Caprica to the Quorum. He was obviously a very smart man, to have cleverly divested himself and his descendants of the burden of ruling a world._

_I am finding some difficulty in maintaining a state of alertness among the civilian population. I know from history that many tyrants rose to power using a climate of fear, and I wish to avoid the conditions that allow that to happen. This is why I've taken advantage of this prolonged peaceful interlude to relax martial law somewhat. But conversely, keeping the civilians ready for defense without an immediate Cylon threat is troublesome. I hope we are beyond the Cylons' reach, but that doesn't mean that other menaces don't lurk among these unknown stars._

Out of a patch of null-space, three Colonial Vipers erupted.

"Okay rookies," Lieutenant Starbuck said over the comline. "We're looking for a jump point. We first find the plane of the system. We do that by first finding planets, comets, asteroids - shiny things. Normally you should resist being distracted by shiny things, but this time - "

"Excuse me, sire?"

"Ident sign, Warrior!"

The trainee warrior made a squeaking sound and replied, "Blue-three, Cadet Palyma, sire!"

"And what do you want, Blue Three?"

"Shouldn't we look for habitable planets, sire?"

"No. We're scouts, we scout. We just find the route we'll take and return with the charts. The science ships will take care of finding habitable worlds."

Another voice spoke up, "Blue-two, Cadet Hercula, sire. Why don't they send the science ships to do this, then?"

Starbuck snorted. "And if they pop out in the middle of a Cylon attack force? They get splattered, the fleet gets no warning, and an unnecessary number of people become kill-marks on a Cylon's blaster-haft."

"So we get killed instead?"

The contempt in Starbuck's voice was thick enough to spread with a knife. "We're Colonial Warriors! It's our job to get shot at so our people can live! If you can't take that, infant, climb back into your mama's womb!"

Blue-Two gulped. "S-Sorry, sire!"

Starbuck huffed. "No, I am. I shouldn't have snapped like that. I had to pay a hundred cubits for my last fumarello, you know. And I can't risk smoking the entire thing at once!"

"Oh poor fumar-leaf addict. A pity that we can only raise useful plants on the agro-ship instead of recreational narcotics."

"What was that?"

"Um - static, sire!"

**From **_**Explorer Corps Guide to the Northern Periphery  
**_**ComStar Internal Document, updated 25/10/2993**

_System Name: Botany Bay  
Coordinates: -179.43, 487.44  
Star Type: K1V  
Position in System: 2  
Time to Jump Point: 5.48 days  
Recharging Station: None  
Population: 1,000,000 +/- 50,000  
Percentage and Level of Native Life: 70% Reptilian, 10% Mammal_

_Former Rim Worlds Republic member world, briefly occupied by the Lyran Commonwealth during the First Succession War The main export market was industrial silicates, which has dried up with the collapse of reliable interstellar transport._

_Despite the lack of natural resources, the indigenous population has maintained a surprisingly high level of civilization ..._

_**Arcology of Singh  
Planet Botany Bay, Coreward Periphery  
November 11, 2999 AD - RWR Independence Day**_

Planetary Defense Chief Vince MacRuder looked out on his forces as they went past for the Independence Day Parade. The population - all one million of them - was watching his face on the planetary holo-network. It wouldn't do to weep in public.

Two Padilla Heavy Artillery Tanks, six Thor Artillery Combat Vehicles, two Zero Light AeroSpace Fighters flying overhead, and five thousand infantry. And that was it - the entirety of the Botany Bay Colonial Defense Militia.

No BattleMechs had served in a hundred years. The planet's last IndustrialMech had been equipped with armor and autocannon/10's ninety years ago, only to be ripped apart during it's only outing against pirates. And the pirates always seemed to have more BattleMechs.

Every three years on the average, pirate bands attacked, DropShips plunging down on their arcologies, BattleMechs marching in the streets. And every time, half to two-thirds of the militia died. Their two ASFs were built out of the wreckage of ten others, and the Padillas only existed because their lostech systems allowed them to stay away from combat while delivering their missile payloads. And they were down to their last hundred irreplaceable Arrow IV laser-guided missiles.

The only shield that the people of Botany Bay had against the pirates was the Defense Militia. And they were as useful as wet tissue paper. One, two, maybe three more raids, and they would have nothing to fight back with. And once the pirates knew they could not be even ineffectually resisted, they wouldn't raid anymore - they would simply come and never leave.

Perhaps ten years of relative freedom left. if they were lucky. After that, how long before the pirates had used up the Botanean people, shipped all the useful slaves off, stripped what little industrial infrastructure still existed, and allowed the rest of the population to die of disease and starvation?

Planetary Defense Chief Vince MacRuder was a master of looking firm and resolute, of hiding the despair in his soul. He had a lot of practice.

As the parade finished and MacRuder stepped off the platform, his yeoman, Lieutenant Rand, came up behind him. "OC matter, sir," she said.

He nodded calmly as they walked to the private car. In the priority codes of the Defense Militia, OC meant 'unknown but potentially dangerous circumstance'. As they got into the car and drove off, Yeoman Rand gave her report. "Ten minutes ago, an anomalous EM reading was recorded. The signature was similar to a K-F Drive signature but very weak, almost on the limit of detectability. The position corresponds to a pseudo-point - not a real pirate point - in the rimward area of the system. Spectroscopic exam of the area indicated three flares of unknown type moving through the system at eleven gees acceleration. Based on their motion, they will pass within two hundred thousand klicks of Botany Bay in eight-point-two-five hours."

"Anything in the warbook?"

"Nothing significant."

MacRuder looked at her coldly. "I will decide what is significant. What did the warbook say?"

Rand looked embarrassed. "The warbook gave a Code Zulu alert. It's obviously some glitch."

The warbook - the ancient computer programs plus the database of Star League sensor data - allowed identification of any ship or weapon system known to the Star League. And MacRuder knew what Code Zulu meant to the warbook. It was the first thing looked up by everyone who had access to the warbook databases. It was included in the program for when no other match could be made.

'Code Zulu' meant 'Alien / Nonhuman Spacecraft'.

MacRuder picked up the car's phone. "MacRuder here. Set a maximum alertness drill for three hours from now, lasting six hours." He checked his spaceflight charts. "Our Zeros at four gees can intercept at eight-point-one mega-klicks in eight hours, if we outfit it with drop tanks and booster rockets for deep flight. Send Zero Alpha out."

"Chief?"

"I want a look at those things as far from the planet as possible. If they're hostile, we can attack them out there or with Zero Beta."

"Aye, sir."

_**Deep Space, Botany Bay System  
November 11, 2999 AD  
75th Day, Season of Spring, 7352nd Year of Time  
4th yahren of the Great Exodus**_

Blue Flight was flying on autopilot. The flight profile was routine - zip through the system at ten gees acceleration, loop the sun, go back to the null-space. This would take most of a time-cycle, so the _Viper_ pilots spent the bulk of the time in flight slumber with sensors recording and alarms ready to sound.

And they sounded at Mission plus six centars.

Lieutenant Starbuck was the first awake, with the two cadets just a bit behind.

"Listen up, Blue Flight. Sensors have a drive-flare - it looks like an alien ship under power. Flare indicates an old-style mag-fusion system, like a Fourth Millennium ship. Decelerating at three-point-six gees, it'll intercept us in two centars. You know what that means?"

Cadet Palmya answered, "An attack?"

"Do you _decelerate_ to make an attack on a spaceship, Cadet? I hope not."

In the embarrassed silence, Starbuck answered, "Meeting us halfway means they want to talk but are nervous about us getting too close to their world. We can respect that. Switch on the languatrons, set the com-sensors on omni-band to pick up every possible broadcast. If there are any broadcasts in the system, that should allow us to get enough of their language in two centars to at least ask if they have grog. Blue-Three, since you're anxious to attack ships that are decelerating, we'll get you out of here. Return to the _Galactica_ at best speed and give a Code Prometheus. Blue-Two, you remember the rest of the Prometheus Protocols regarding interception by non-hostile alien ships?"

Cadet Herculea stammered a bit, then recited, "Send out langua-code transmission to facilitate translation. Meet at zero relative. Maximize vocal communications to allow languatron to develop a database. Keep force field positive but don't shoot first. Accept invitations if offered. Make neither wagers nor promises."

"Good girl. You'll go far."

Captain Juliet Moreland in the ASF Zero Alpha wanted to gasp as the acceleration pressed her into her gee-seat. Despite the gee-suit and the acceleration drugs, it was still like being crushed by a hundred-kilo weight for six hours. And despite the fact that she had heat-sinks where a production-run Zero would have a LRM-10 and ammo, it was still an oven in the cockpit. The things she did for the Beebe!

But she wouldn't have passed it up for anything.

As the information feed from Militia Control kept babbling in her ear, it confirmed the alien identity of the objects. Sensors indicated that the drive flare of the Zulu probes corresponded to no known propulsion system and they were invisible to radar and lidar. One of the probes looped around and headed back the way it came at one-hundred-ten gees acceleration. The other two were now decelerating, ready to meet her at zero relative.

If she weren't having the life crushed out of her, she would have been fidgeting in excitement.

_"Calling Zero Alpha," _a voice from Militia Control sounded in her ear. _"Still can't identify what that engine is, but we've got a good reading of the thrust and mass. They mass a bit over fourteen tons each. As fighters I think they would be classed as ultra-light if there were such a thing. The consultants think that they're automated probes launched from a ship at the pseudo-point. They've been transmitting at us for ten minutes now. It appears to be a binary-code-based translation program. It has vocabulary and a table of basic measures for time, distance, and mass. Close match to the MKS system but not exact. We'll look it over, see if we can add a database of English, and download it into your system. It if works, you should be able to talk to them to a degree. Since there's going to be a fifty-four-second transmission lag, you are now appointed by Parliament and the Big Chief as de facto Ambassador of the Republic of Botany Bay. The Chief says you can expect a half-step rise in pay grade. Maybe a small bonus."_

"Nice of you," she grunted. "I can spend it on a new wheelchair. I better get a [i]_statue_[/i] out of this, you tool-tuggers!"

_**United Colonial Battlestar **_**Galactica  
**_**"Rag Tag Fleet"  
75th Day, Season of Spring, 7352nd Year of Time**_

Corporal Rigel reported, "Colonel, getting a message from Blue-Three."

Colonel Tigh frowned at that. "Blue Flight isn't due back for for another half a time-cycle." In the four yahren since the Fall of the Colonies, it had become a truism that if anything was off-schedule or unexpected, it was usually bad. "Put it on speaker."

_"This is Blue-Three from Blue Flight, reporting to _Galactica. Galactica_ respond. Oh Lords, come on already!"_

Tigh grunted. "Cadet flight. Rookies are so excitable." He picked up his microphone. "Blue-Three, this is _Galactica_. Are you going to report any particular action code or are you going to just jabber like a primate?"

_"Sorry sire - Blue Flight reporting Code Prometheus. Repeating - Code Prometheus."_

"That's better. Report to _Galactica_ for debriefing, Cadet."

_"Yes, sire. Thank you, sire. I appreciate this -"_

Tigh switched it off, shaking his head. "The tragedy of youth - the best thing about it is that you grow out of it." He opened the comline to the Commander's office. "Tigh to Adama."

_"Lieutenant Athena here."_

"Lieutenant. Where is your father?"

_"Attending Boxey's Junior Triad Game with Apollo aboard the Orphanage Ship. We filed his schedule."_

"Hades," Tigh muttered to himself. He remembered reading that now. "Well, we have a Code Prometheus in the next system. Starbuck's handling it, and we have a pilot to debrief. I can fill the Commander in on his next duty shift."

_"Hold it. You're letting _Starbuck_ handle First Contact with unknown aliens?"_

"He is the ranking officer on site. I admit it sounds worse than -"

_"I'll contact Father and Apollo immediately!"_

Tigh shook his head. Starbuck may not be the ideal officer, but he was a proven leader and as such he had a good feel for what made people tick. It just took some effort to get him to use it for something besides gambling. Athena had less trust for Starbuck, but that was because of their ... rather complicated past.

Tigh gave over the command and began to make his way to Landing Bay Alpha. He had to get some information for the report for the Commander and the Quorum.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Deep Space, Botany Bay System  
November 11, 2999 AD**_

Juliet watched as the bluish-white flares of the alien ships backed through, even as her own yellow-white flare occluded half the stars.

The engine cut out, and the invisible Botanean hump-beast that had been sitting on her internal organs vanished. She took deep breaths and stretched as much as the Zero's tiny cockpit allowed. After eight hours at four gees, zero gravity was a delight. And she could finally get a decent amount of drink and eat a ration-bar.

Looking out her cockpit, she watched the drive flares of the alien probes cease.

"Zero Alpha to Militia Control. You getting this, Beebe? There are two probes - we knew that - built on a dartlike design. There are three engines with vanes, possibly cooling fins, a front pointed bow, and not a lot of room. I don't see how there's room for anything. Hold it ... there are cockpit bubbles! There are _pilots_! I thought they were automated or robots or something! One of them just waved at me! How the hell did they survive those accelerations? Screw that - how did they _make_ those accelerations?"

The radio received; the computer processed the signal through the alien's translation program and the speakers spoke; _"This is Blue Flight, off the United Colonial Battlestar _Galactica. _On behalf of the Quorum of Twelve and the United Colonies of Kobol, greetings."_

She responded nervously, "Um ... This is Zero Alpha, of the Botany Bay Colonial Defense Militia. Welcome to the Republic of Botany Bay."

_"Well, that's the formalities our governments want us to say. My name's Starbuck, my wingman's Cadet Herculea - she's new at this but shaping up nicely."_

_"Um, hello?" _a female voice said.

Juliet found herself relaxing. This did not sound like an alien menace coming to eat brains or implant chest-bursting eggs in people. And they definitely were not pirates. She had lived through eight pirate invasions in her life and fought against two of them, and this was not how pirates invaded a planet. Although they didn't sound like enlightened pacifists either - more like fighter jockeys.

"Hello, Cadet and Starbuck. I'm Juliet. Pilot and unlikely Ambassador for my nation. I take it you're fighter pilots? What are you doing out here?"

_"Passing through. We're looking for a lost colony of our mother-world of Kobol. We think it's in this general direction."_

"Well, our colony's been here over four hundred years, and we haven't noticed anyone but our own people and pirates. When was this colony planted?"

_"About seven thousand years ago. It was named Earth. Heard of it?"_

Juliet swallowed nervously. "Um ... My ancestors were from Earth. It's five hundred nineteen light-years toward the Rim."

There was silence for a moment, then, _"Earth has a colony?"_

"Two thousand colonies, last we heard. We've been out of touch for a while."

The Cadet whispered, _"Lords of Kobol grant mercy ..."_

Starbuck howled a victory cry. _"I can't believe it! WE MADE IT! LORDS OF KOBOL BE PRAISED WE MADE IT! Juliet? The moment we're in arms reach of each other, you get a kiss! WOOO!"_

In the background, Juliet could hear the sound of Cadet Herculea weeping.

_**Militia Control, Arcology of Singh  
Planet Botany Bay, Coreward Periphery  
November 11, 2999 AD**_

Twenty-seven light-seconds away, MacRuder and the other Chiefs of the Republic listened to the conversation between Zero Alpha and the visitors.

"What the hell is this?" the News Chief Maxwell McClure said. "Is this some sort of joke?"

MacRuder said, "If it is, they're using technology beyond even the Star League to play it. No one could survive the accelerations we saw those ships do - at least according to what we know of space travel."

One of the scholars at the computer said, "It makes sense."

MacRuder asked, "Excuse me? Who are you again?"

"Madison Jeffries, linguistic consultant. The language in this program they sent us is firmly based in proto-Indo-European, the oldest known language - a language so old it had to be deduced from all the other languages that have evolved from it. The visitor's language is simply a complex variant of proto-Indo-European. In fact, I'd feel comfortable in saying that it separated from our language family at least five thousand years ago if not more."

MacRuder asked, "Are they a threat? That's all I want to know."

"I don't know! I'm a scholar, not a strategist!"

Big Chief Reginald Voort spoke; "These people have incredibly advanced technology and say they're passing through. They're armed but they're willing to talk peacefully. Maybe we can negotiate for weapons or technology. If they have Mechs or other military assets, they might even be willing to contract as mercenaries."

That brought the elephant to the middle of the room. The fear of the next pirate invasion.

"What could we offer them?" MacRuder asked.

"We won't know until we talk to them. Send an invitation."

_**Deep Space, Botany Bay System  
November 11, 2999 AD**_

Starbuck was feeling more cheerful than he had in a long time, if ever. The Exodus was almost over! A light in the darkness! And it was delivered by a girl to boot!

_"Are you alright?" _Juliet asked.

"He-hee - oh, sorry. It's just that ... four yahren since our homeworlds were destroyed. Fleeing across space crammed into a bunch of salvaged ships, being shot at, scrounging for supplies and following every drip of a clue to Earth ... now someone says, 'Oh that? It's over there.' I guess I needed a bit of catharsis."

_"Geez ... Sorry. Well, for what it's worth, my government has extended an official invitation to your government for a visit."_

Starbuck grinned. "Hear that, Herculea? We've got an official invite! You zip back to the Gray Lady and deliver the invitation. I'll accompany our host back home and we'll see you again in a time-cycle or so."

_"But, sire -"_

"Orders. Go. Scoot."

_"By Your Leave ..."_

The cadet's Viper turned around and it's drive flared as it sped away at a hundred Colonial Standard gravities. "Well, according to protocols, I'm supposed to accept invitations if offered. Would you mind escorting me? I still owe you a kiss, I believe."

_"I've heard about you fighter pilots and your habits with young women."_

"And?"

"_And since as a fighter pilot I do much the same thing with young men, so you're in luck."_

"Woo!"

_"Although you could get there before I could. I was doing best acceleration here with drop tanks and boosters. I'm almost out of juice. I was planning on a nice leisurely trip back."_

"Well then, I think I can help you."

Starbuck moved the Viper under maneuvering jets to on top of the alien ship. "The design looks atmospheric," he commented. "Must be a treat to fly on a planet. Hold still - I'll wrap you up like we do on rescue flights and haul you in."

_"Hold it! I don't know how you fly at those accelerations, but we don't do that, whatever it is!"_

"Don't worry! I'll reconfigure the force field, you'll hardly feel a thing! Ejecting tow cables."

As the cables came out, Starbuck popped his canopy, hooked a line to the interior of the Viper, and hopped out. The gee-suit all pilots wore as an undergarment not only protected him from the accelerations of his Viper but could act as a simple space suit for about ten centons at a time. His helmet's air supply was the limiting factor, but a simple activity like this shouldn't take more than two centons. He grabbed a tow cable and pulled it down, drifting himself to the alien ship. His boots found a magnetic hold on the Zero Alpha, making it easy to attach and tighten the cable.

_"Militia Control, he is walking on the outside of the Zero Alpha. And he is not wearing a space suit. Repeat - he is not wearing a space suit. Just a uniform and that funny-looking helmet. And I forgot to pack any booze."_

Starbuck paused and looked into the cockpit. Juliet was a dark-skinned woman, but of a different shade than the Tribe of Leo. Her features had a odd but friendly cast to them. He decided that she was cute. "Oh yeah, I'll definitely want that kiss! What's that big cable in your helmet?"

_"That? It's my neurohelmet. For flying the ship."_

He sorted through that for a moment. "Directly into your brain? You mean it's surgically implanted?"

_"What? No, it's just a helmet."_

"Weird." He hit the winch and was retracted into the Viper's cockpit. As he closed the canopy, he adjusted the ship for flying tandem. "Adjusting trim, expanding field ... and we're off!"

He hit the turbo-boost and they looped around and sped toward Botany Bay.

"YAAAA!"

_**Militia Control, Arcology of Singh  
Planet Botany Bay, Coreward Periphery  
November 11, 2999 AD**_

The comm officer confirmed it. "They're coming in at -four-two gees. Zero Alpha's on-board telemetry indicates a three-point-two gee acceleration. ETA two-point-eight-five hours."

"And he said his people will be here sometime tomorrow." McClure looked palid. "What are we doing? Who are these people? Are they aliens or human?"

Jeffries replied, "I'd say that they're humans who were taken from Earth before we had spaceflight. Unless we take what that 'Starbuck' said at face value - in which case we and all Earth-descended humans are a branch of an ancient starfaring race that we've forgotten about."

"In either case," the Big Chief said, "They're using a technology that we haven't even dreamed about. Beyond the Star League, even. I've prayed to God and Altjira to find a way to save us from our doom. Now they've delivered."

MacRuder asked, "How do you mean, sir?"

Voort shooed a technician away and rewound the recording of the two pilots. He played one slip; _" ... four years since our homeworlds were destroyed. Fleeing across space crammed into a bunch of salvaged ships, being shot at, scrounging for supplies and following every drip of a clue to Earth ... "_

Voort looked around at the Chiefs. "These are refugees. We have a habitable planet of which we're using less than two percent. Even at our height we never numbered over a hundred million and we're down to one percent of that! If these ... 'United Colonies of Kobol' ... want a few hundred million hectares, we can give it to them! And look what they can offer in return. Spaceships! New technologies! Industries! And possibly a way to defend ourselves!" He took a deep breath to steady himself. "And just maybe we can buy a future for our planet."

"We don't know who these people are!" Resource Chief Kelso argued. "We can't just invite strangers to settle on our world! They're complete unknowns! We don't know about their culture or their beliefs or -"

"NONE OF THAT MATTERS!" the Big Chief roared. "We're past the point where anything else matters! To hell with heritage or culture or beliefs! I don't care if they want us to eat raw flesh and bow to stone idols! _I want my grandchildren to grow up somewhere besides a slave pen on an alien planet! IS ANYTHING MORE IMPORTANT THAN THAT?_"

Silence answered him.

He nodded. "Right. Kelso, get out those old colonial expansion plans. Things will go smoother if we follow established procedures as much as possible."

_**Office of the President, Government Yacht **_**Star Kobol  
**_**"Rag Tag Fleet"  
75th Day, Season of Spring, 7352nd Year of Time**_

"You are dismissed, Cadet Herculea."

The cadet nodded and left, leaving President Tinia, Commander Adama, and their aides.

"How much do you trust this invitation?" Tinia asked.

It was a legitimate question. The survivors of the Twelve Colonies had so many near-misses and traps on their journey that they had come to mistrust anything resembling good fortune.

"I don't know," Adama said. "It seems to smell of ... desperation more than friendliness. Note the ship that came out to meet them - a large fighter, but it required extra fuel tanks to get to the intercept point, which was less than a hectar from their world. And according to the spectrum of their drive, it was overheating. That ship was far beyond it's range, but they sent it out anyway. Why not a patrol gunboat or a civilian space vessel with adequate range? Unless that was the best ship they had. And if they had a space fighter, they needed one."

"You think we'll be walking into some else's war?"

"I don't know. The war could be over and they're in the middle of rebuilding. Which would also explain the friendly reception and the ship."

Tinia smiled. "Well then. That would be different. You said this ship was three millennia behind our technology?"

"Their propulsion was. What do you have in mind?"

"If they are rebuilding after a war, then it stands to reason we can trade, can't we? And if they are that far behind us technologically, we can trade old and obsolete technology. Acquire some information and supplies for things we don't really need. Clear out some junk. And it would still be a fair trade."

Adama nodded. "Yes, I like the sound of that."

"Perhaps a brief layover, a few sectons? The conversion of the _Lysander _to a second agro-ship requires some down time. And the mining ships can make a tylium foray - they've detected some tylium in the spectrum of a stellar nursery."

"Yes, I saw that report."

Tinia smiled. "Excellent. Then the Quorum will accept the invitation. If both of us back it, I'm sure the rest will be brought into line." She shook her head. "It amazes me that those children don't accidentally vote themselves into an airlock."

"I know," Adama agreed. The Quorum gave him headaches enough, he could just imagine whet she went through. "But the Fleet was tired of professional politicians after the Prison Barge Incident. All we had left were the ambitious and the devout believers in one thing or another. When it comes to actual politics, they're complete amateurs."

"So why didn't you become President? You could have done it and made them think it was their idea."

Adama held up his hands to fend off the idea. "Lords of Kobol, no! I have enough authority - too much maybe. If I had the Office of President on top of my martial-law authority and my military authority ... not to mention how people still respect my hereditary claim to the High Lordship of Caprica ... " He shook his head. "I'm not a tyrant myself, but I wouldn't want to give future generations a precedent for accumulating power."

Tinia's face became serious. "Do you really think this is an Earth colony? If it is ... maybe we can stop here. It's been such a long trip, I don't think anyone would mind stopping in Earth-controlled space."

Adama had been thinking the same thing. Four yahrens running ... he was not a young man. "We'll have to find out. Talk to their leaders. But personally ... if the people don't mind I wouldn't object to it."

"You know, Adama, now that we don't have politics between us, I like to think we're getting ... friendlier ..."

"Oh dear, look at the time. I have to get the Fleet ready for the transit." He hurriedly got to his feet. "Thank you for your time, Siress President."

Adama's aide, his daughter Athena, smirked as her father retreated the overly-friendly Siress Tinia. "Why Father, I thought you two had settled your differences."

"Yes, but she ... took things too seriously."

"Things?"

Adama seemed embarrassed. "I - I'd had too much ambrosa! It was only one night!"

"Oh, Father. Again?"

_**Militia Spaceport, Arcology of Singh  
Planet Botany Bay, Coreward Periphery  
November 11, 2999 AD**_

Defense Chief MacRuder didn't usually wait on the tarmac for the return of an ASF from a mission. But this one was different. The deep-space watch had recorded the two ships separating at the edge of the atmosphere and was monitoring their return. He drew on his cigar and exhaled a cloud of smoke, making Yeoman Rand snort and choke slightly.

Zero-Alpha came in for a short-runway landing - as she was low on fuel, the use of the catch-cable was authorized. The aerospace fighter came to an abrupt jerking halt and powered down it's engine.

The alien Viper, following discreetly behind, slowed down until it came to a stop alongside the Zero - but ten meters off the ground. It extended landing skids and in defiance of known physics lowered itself gently to the tarmac without a hint of reaction engine activity.

Captain Juliet Moreland, now climbing unsteadily out of her ship, watched the Viper's descent and began shouting, "_I want one!_ I don't care if you use up the entire bloody planetary budget, _I want one!_"

Starbuck disembarked and removed his helmet. His rather exotic fair-haired and fair-skinned appearance, as opposed to the mixed Australian Aboriginie-Hindu ethnic cast of three-quarters of the Beebe's population and the African-Eurpoean blend of the bulk of the remainder, got more than a few looks. What really got the notice of the mechanics and technicians was the uniform, as opposed to the traditional skimpy outfit and cooling vest of ASF pilots and MechWarriors. MacRuder's gaze was caught by the sidearm - a huge unfamiliar pistol in a fast-draw holster, like what duellists used in old holo-plays.

The alien looked around and saw his fellow fighter pilot being examined by a medic. With a grin on his face, he trotted over to her, swept her into his arms, and planted a kiss on her. And it lasted long enough for MacRuder and his entourage to come over. MacRuder cleared his throat, but it still took a moment for the kiss to break up.

"Woot!" Captain Moreland exclaimed. "That's a promise there, mate!"

Starbuck said something in his language and turned to MacRuder, then said something else. At their looks of incomprehension, he took a box off of his belt, worked it's controls, and spoke again. _"- on all Lords-damned mechanical translators," _the box said. _"Hello, I'm Lieutenant Starbuck, Colonial Warrior off the Battlestar _Galactica_. According to protocol, I'm supposed to make preliminary contact and scheduling preparations. Once we get that out of the way, we can get down to the serious business of alcohol and gambling. Take me to your leader."_

Juliet laughed and embraced him from behind. "Oh I like this one!" The box spoke in alien language, translating her words.

"All fighter pilots are alike," MacRuder said, not with complete disapproval. "That would be me. Defense Chief MacRuder, Botany Bay Colonial Defense Militia. Welcome to the Beebe." He gave his cigar stub a last puff and tossed it aside.

Starbuck grinned. _"Oh good, a civilized people! And everyone keeps telling me it's a bad habit." _He took a pack from his jacket and opened it, showing a lone cigar. _"I brought this four thousand light-years. Enjoy."_

MacRuder smiled and took it. "They keep telling me that, too. The complaining sounds like the buzzing of insects after a while." In return he offered his own humidor, from which Starbuck took a cigar. "There's a conference room this way."

As they walked to the building, the men went through the rituals of cigar-preparation, lit up, and inhaled.

MacRuder nodded in appreciation. "Nice. Mild but full. Lingers in the nose."

Starbuck's eyes went wide. He took the Botanean cigar (made from genetically-enhanced super-tobacco native-grown with Brazilian seeds brought from Earth centuries ago, cut with a native plant, and wrapped in a super-tobacco leaf) from his lips and looked at it in wonder. _"Lords of Kobol have mercy,"_ the languatron wheezed. _"I think I've found Paradise."_


	3. Chapter 3

**_Government Bunker, Arcology of Singh_**  
**_Planet Botany Bay, Coreward Periphery_**  
**_November 12, 2999 AD_**

Midnight had passed quietly, and out the window, the sky was still lit with the launch trail of the remote probe they just sent up - actually a sensor and communications package strapped to a spare ASF engine that they didn't have the parts to build another ASF around, but it should do the job of witnessing the arrival of the Colonial refugee fleet.

Big Chief Reginald Voort looked up from reading the reports and transcripts from the meeting with the Colonial Warrior Starbuck. The history of the Exodus - the Twelve Colonies of Kobol, also called the Twelve Tribes of Man and the Worlds of the Three Suns, who had lost their civilization and re-discovered spaceflight three thousand years ago(!); the Thousand-Year War with the Cylon Alliance, a civilization of artificially intelligent robots built by alien lizards(!); the Armistice and the Fall of the Colonies, when fifty billion people on twelve planets died in a single day; and the four-year flight across the stars with a quarter-million refugees crammed into two-hundred-twenty civilian ships with a lone WarShip for protection against a genocidal alien empire.

It sounded like a fantasy story - except for the very tangible fighter with antigravity technology and super-acceleration engines sitting in a hangar at the Militia Spaceport.

Voort shook his head. These people had been through all hells, in most ways actually worse than what the Beebe had been through the past century. He would have given them a land grant out of sheer pity, regardless of any other factors.

But he had to admit to himself. the thought of a WarShip standing guard in space over the continent of Ned Kelly, the mere sight of it scaring the sod out of a pirate expedition, turned his frown into a smile. These Colonists would be a welcome addition to the Beebe - new industries, new technology, and a solid contribution to planetary defense. He wondered if he could marry his son to their President or something. He never liked his daughter-in-law anyway.

Voort checked intelligence reports on Lieutenant Starbuck's position - six hours ago, he and Captain Moreland entered her apartment and both were still there. The two seemed to have hit it off well. That bade well for integrating the Colonial Service into the Defense Militia.

Or vice versa ...

Chief Voort foresaw that if they took the land-grant, there might be two nations on the planet, which might lead to competition. And giving them representation in Parliament might be just as bad. The largest constituency on the planet was twenty-five thousand voters - imagine giving ten times that number only a single seat and the problems that would generate! Or creating ten to fifteen new seats in the ninety-seat Parliament! He would have to find some middle ground.

Voort was quite serious when he told the other chiefs that nothing else mattered. During the atrocity-heavy 2992 raid, the pirates had occupied the arcology of Noonien for seven weeks. His younger sister and her children had lived there. After the pirates had left, they had vanished without a trace, along with thousands of others. At the time, Voort had been a minor Parliamentarian representing a farm coalition. He was elected Planetary Chief in the wake of the raid under the banner of the Renewal Party, replacing the Peace Party, a faction that favored appeasement. He had built up the military as much as he could with the available resources and had implemented a shelter program to hide the children during an occupation.

If it would shield the people of Botany Bay from pirates and slavery, he'd offer whatever they wanted.

Of course, if they actually had an operational WarShip, he might not have a choice. He would have to wait and see.

_**Militia Control, Arcology of Singh  
Planet Botany Bay, Coreward Periphery  
76th Day, Season of Spring, 7352nd Year of Time  
November 12, 2999 AD**_

The Planetary Chiefs and the Head of Parliament were watching the holotank, waiting for the first friendly interstellar visit the Beebe had since the Lyran Commonwealth's Occupation Forces left back in 2776, taking the limited interstellar trade with them. The public was kept out of the loop at this point, pending the outcome of the meeting of the governments.

Lieutenant Starbuck and Captain Moreland were there, each with a beer from the vending machines in the hall. Starbuck also had a Botanean cigar in his mouth and his free arm around Juliet, along with a grin on his face. They were speaking to each other in a broken patois of Kobolian and English, no doubt formed in the last few hours, although Starbuck's languatron was still on his hip.

The probe was sending back telemetry across forty-seven mega-kilometers. It showed the pseudo-point, what Starbuck referred to as a 'null-space', as it was two-point-six minutes ago. To human eyes, it was an empty spot. A flicker of energy, and the empty spot was filled with a ship.

A sensor officer reported, "That's ridiculous! It's too small to be a jump signature by a hundredfold! And that's not even a proper jump point!"

"Bugger that!" another officer said. "Look at that thing!"

The senior officer reported, "Decelerating at two gees - an estimated one-point-two-five klicks in length, estimated three hundred meters at the beam. Approximately the size of a Texas-class battleship."

Everyone had to admit, that was a lot of ship.

"No denying it, people," MacRuder said. "That's a WarShip. Battleship class at least."

"Battlestar class," Starbuck corrected. "Name's _Galactica_. The Gray Lady to those that love her."

"It - the _Galactica _- has come to a stop," the senior officer reported. "More of those miniature jump signatures - five, ten, fifteen -"

"Two-hundred-twenty," MacRuder said. "That's the number Lieutenant Starbuck gave us. Not counting a number of those Viper ASFs flying CAP. At least, I'd do it that way."

I took nearly twenty minutes for all the ships of the Rag-Tag Fleet (as the Militia Control staffers rapidly nicknamed it) to appear. And they gave the technology and ship consultants fits. They were all too small to be JumpShips, the EMP signature was impossibly small for a hyperspace jump, a pseudo-point was useless for a hyperspace jump according to accepted scientific dogma, and their designs were ludicrous.

The twenty-five Vipers that came through last caused a couple of consultants to walk out while loudly proclaiming their intention to become sandwich vendors since everything they ever knew was obviously wrong, because the very concept of a light fighter capable of a lone hyperspace jump was sheer insanity.

"Sorry!" Starbuck called out as they left.

"The Rag-Tag Fleet's forming up," the sensor officer reported. "If they make two gees like the big one did, they should be here in twenty-seven hours - JESUS BUGGER ME!"

"Report!" the senior officer snapped.

"The _Galactica's _in orbit!" the officer yelled hysterically. "It disappeared from the probe signal and appeared in high orbital space!"

That caused a near-riot until the Big Chief shouted everyone down. When they were calm, Voort asked Starbuck, "Lieutenant, what did we just see?"

"Lightspeed," he said. He stumbled over his English vocabulary - which was decidedly non-technical - for a second, then switched on the languatron output. _"The _Galactica_ can generate a field that cancels inertia. This allows the ship to move at the speed of light for short periods. Switch off the field and it resumes moving as it did before lightspeed. They must be looking forward to the visit."_

Science consultant Greori Illyan snapped his fingers. "That explains it! The ship was moving at lightspeed - the same speed as the signal from the probe! So while the _Galactica _took one-hundred-forty-seven seconds to get here, the signal lag made it look like it teleported!" He was almost hopping up and down. "Ooo I want to look through their science texts! I'll sell my kidneys for a science text describing that inertialess effect!"

"Gotta love a man who loves his work," Starbuck said.

"I couldn't agree more," Big Chief Voort said with a grin. Engaging pirates on the ground was suicide; in as deep of space as possible was preferrable. If his science wanks figured out that lightspeed effect, he could engage them almost at the jump point!

"The _Galactica's _achieved orbit," the senior officer reported. "They've sent a signal asking for the permission to send a delegation."

"Open a channel, voice recording," Voort said. "This is Planetary Chief Reginald Voort. In the name of the People and Parliament, welcome to Botany Bay. Permission for landing granted. I'm looking forward to the meeting."

A minute later, the radio officer said, "Receiving message for Big Chief Voort."

"On speaker."

A woman's voice came on. _"This is President Tinia of the Quorum of Twelve. On behalf of the Twelve Colonies of Kobol, I thank the Government of Botany Bay for their gracious invitation. Commander Adama of the Battlestar _Galactica _and myself shall accompany the delegation. We look forward to renewing our relationship with the Tribe of Ophiuchon and our brethren from the Colony of Earth. May the Lords of Kobol and the God of Creation grant us the wisdom to serve our peoples."_

Voort looked at Starbuck. "'Tribe of Ophiuchon'?"

"That's the tribe that founded the Colony of Earth seven thousand years ago," Starbuck replied. "Most people just call them the Thirteenth Tribe. I don't think anyone knows a lot about them. Commander Adama is the big expert in the Fleet."

Consultant Jeffries spoke up. "I did some research last night. The oldest written records of humanity - Earth humanity - date from about that time. And Yahwehist myth places the creation of the world in that period. Plus, there was a religious movement in the first century before spaceflight that maintained that the oldest human civilizations were founded by extraterrestrial beings. They cited some very flimsy evidence including vague myth coorespondences and pyramid-style building design on separate continents. Did you have a lot of pyramids back home, Lieutenant Starbuck?" That last was asked with an almost amused tone.

"Like these?"

Starbuck pulled out what looked like a book-style wallet and opened it. Inside was a photograph of Starbuck and two other men in the same uniform. And behind them was a cityscape of advanced technology, awash with lights - and all the large buildings were pyramid shaped.

Juliet asked, "Who are these two fellows?"

"My wingmen - Apollo and Boomer. This was the night we all graduated from Warrior Academy training. That's Marduk City on the planet Caprica. We tore a path through the Social District that night. Luckily the tribunal agreed to drop the charges."

Jeffries grinned. "Oh dear. You know what this means? I'll be responsible for rewriting the history books on thousands of worlds and completely overturning known human history. Millions of historians are going to want to lynch me for centuries to come." He gave a victory cry. "This is a great day to be alive!"

The discussions between the Chiefs and Parliament of Botany Bay and the Quorum of Twelve went extremely smoothly. Perhaps too smoothly.

The two sides had too much in common. Both were desparate and on their last legs. Both were backed into corners by forces beyond their control. If they had not been so desperate, the talks could have taken months, or even years. They were too anxious to make the Big Deal that would solve all their problems, and met agreement on the main issues in a matter of hours.

Future generations would berate their memories for acting so fast, citing the many problems and inelegant solutions to the union of the Twelve Tribes and the Botaneans.

But none would ever discuss dissolving the union.

_**City of Hope  
Planet Erewhon, Coreward Periphery  
November 21, 2999 AD**_

Erewhon was a rich world as unallied Periphery planets went. It had some small factory complexes left over from the Star League that allowed the production of a variety of useful export items. Some of these included autocannon ammunition, Short-Range Missile loadouts, and a reasonably-priced knockoff brand of Durallax vehicle armor, as well as a variety of electronics systems.

This made Erewhon a popular place in the pirate-infested Periphery and a common stop for parties in the war-torn Lyran Commonwealth and Draconis Combine who didn't want their military purchases easily traced. This kept Erewhon reasonably safe from pirates, since the pirates kept each other in check to keep their supply routes open.

Johann Frankenstein was not really named Frankenstein. It was the traditional name assumed by whoever led the 'mercenary company' called Frankenstein's Monsters. Of course, this organization had as much resemblance to a mercenary company as a rabid Terran timber wolf had to a pure-bred Maltese. But saying 'pirate' out loud on Erewhon was Bad Manners.

Frankenstein's meal had been exquisite, the wine had been delectable, and he enjoyed the sunset on the dining balcony of the most expensive hotel on the planet. And in his bedchambers a young lady was waiting, trembling in ... some emotion. He didn't care which.

A steward brought a telephone on a tray. "Sir, it's your office."

With a gracious nod he picked it up. "Frankenstein."

_"This is Helle," _his quartermaster answered. _"We have a new contract for autocannon propellant. And the warehouses are empty."_

"Oh. It's that time already? How long to preparations are complete?"

_"A day or so."_

"Excellent. I'll meet you at the _Gargoyle _in the morning."

As he hung up, a smile crossed Johann's face. He had a good life here. But a vital part of that life was the bread-and-butter of Frankenstein's Monsters - the Triangle Run. And it was during that run that he felt the most alive.

Seven days out to jump-point, two hyperspace jumps, and six days in to a little world called Botany Bay. They had just enough armament to make a landing exciting. Spend a few weeks collecting some thousands of slaves, with all the joys of fighting guerillas and slave-collecting. Each had their own sublime pleasures.

Then six days out, three hyperspace jumps, and eight days in to Apollo. The former capital of the Rim Worlds Republic was a hub for what little legitimate traffic still went through this area of the Periphery, as well as being an excellent location to convert loot into money for the unit, and ale and whores for the men. The slave markets were always busy, and often the slaves could be traded directly for raw materials.

After a couple of weeks of business, eight days out, two hyperspace jumps, and seven days in and home again. Four months all told, and the warehouses would be full again of raw materials to sell to the factories of Erewhon for the next few years, freelancing his forces on the side for petty cash and to keep from getting rusty. Even with the upkeep of two JumpShips, half a dozen DropShips, five lances of BattleMechs, five ASFs, and an overstrength company of infantry, it was still a good profit.

He was hoping there hadn't been too much poaching in the seven years since his last visit to Botany Bay. He liked it when they struggled helplessly.

That thought reminded Johann of the young lady waiting in his room. He left a modest tip at the table and headed inside, whistling.


	4. Chapter 4

_**DISCLAIMER: I've forgotten the disclaimers - careless of me. Battlestar Galactica (the 1979 series) is not mine, and neither is Classic BattleTech.**_

_**ANNOUNCEMENT: My publishing schedule is on Monday afternoons, due to the demands of Real Life.  
**_

_**On with the show ...**_

_**"Rag Tag Fleet"  
78th Day, Season of Spring, 7352nd Year of Time  
4th yahren of the Great Exodus  
November 14, 2999 AD**_

_"This is IFB - Inter-Fleet Broadcasting. Welcome to 'The Zara Report' "_

"Hello, Humanity! This is Zara, bringing you the news and personalities of the Fleet. For several time-cycles the Fleet has been awash with rumors concerning that favorite topic - Earth. Usually, these rumors have no basis in fact.

"Well, after inquiring of the Quorum of Twelve and the Colonial Service, I can tell you now that for once these rumors do have an element of fact. We are currently in orbit of a planet called 'Botany Bay', a sub-colony of Earth. A ship from Botany Bay was encountered four time-cycles ago and formalities were exchanged. The Quorum has been in contact with the government of Botany Bay for two time-cycles, conducting negotiations. So today, our regular format will be interrupted so the Quorum can make an official statement.

"I now present President Tinia of the Quorum of Twelve."

The popular President came on the screen, looking tired but triumphant. _"People of the Colonies. This is a great day. We are currently in orbit of the planet Botany Bay - affectionately called 'the Beebe' by it's one million human inhabitants. They have given us permission to stay in their system temporarily. And from them, we have acquired good and bad news._

_"First, the good news. According to their records, their world is one of several thousand sub-colonies of Earth. This area of space known to the Tribe of Ophiuchon as the Periphery. Towards the Galactic Rim is the Inner Sphere, and Earth is the zero coordinate of their star charts. We now have exact coordinates for Earth. By the help of the Lords of Kobol, it turns out we were already on that course and would have found it in half a yahren anyway._

_"Now the bad news. Botany Bay has not had friendly contact with other worlds in over two centuries. And when they last had such contact, all of the worlds that they knew were involved in a enormous civil war. All the contacts they have had since then have been pirate raids and hostile occupations. For all they know, there may be no interstellar civilization left. Earth may have been destroyed. There is no information on the subject._

_"The Quorum has debated this problem. If we go on to Earth, we may be taking the Fleet into pirate infested barbarian space only to find a dead world. Any other direction takes us into the unknown, save backtracking, and we all know where that leads us. There are too many unknowns._

_"What we do know is that we are in a region of space where there are no Cylons. The world below us is almost pristine and untouched, easily able to absorb another quarter-million people. And the known space powers are pirates with a minimal space warfare capability. If we stay here, we can civilize this area of space, and perhaps contact other civilized spacefarers and learn about the rest of our brethren._

_"The Republic of Botany Bay has offered us citizenship if we wish, or just a grant of land and autonomy. Their industries have been ravaged by piracy, and we could help them rebuild what they have lost. They can give us the land and manpower and resources we need to rebuild what we have lost. We could also settle elsewhere - the Botany Bay charts say that this space is rich in habitable worlds - but we would be starting from the beginning in a raw wilderness. And the space around us would still be claimed by pirates._

_"This decision is too great for a casual vote of the Quorum, as halting our Exodus would mean an end to martial law authority and the state of emergency. So the Quorum of Twelve hereby schedules a plebiscite for two days from now. Vote on whether we join the Colony of Botany Bay, continue our journey to Earth, or found a new colony here or elsewhere. Discuss, research, and vote. And pray."_

When Zara came back on, she began; "With that, it's obvious we'll have a lot of thinking to do. So this evening we'll have a special report with discussion groups concerning the pros and cons of the various positions - as soon as we can organize them."

_**Planet Botany Bay, Coreward Periphery  
80th Day, Season of Spring, 7352nd Year of Time  
November 16, 2999 AD**_

"Welcome to the Beebe Holovision Network News. This is your host, Tanya Alexander, standing in for Maya Verdeschi who can't be here tonight due to circumstances that I deny all complicity in.

"Speaking of mysterious events, in the top of the news tonight, the mysterious ships that have been sighted in orbit by amateur telescopes for the past three days. While the Office of the Big Chief has been adamant that this is not a pirate invasion, they have been reluctant to speak of what those ships actually are, fueling conspiracy theories that have included a covert government space program, alien space bats, and swamp gas. Tonight, the Big Chief himself, Reginald Voort, will address the population live to answer this question. Before the Chief comes on, here is our government activities expert, Apun Ditweiler, to help us shed some light onto the government's recent actions. Welcome to the studio, Apun."

"Glad to be here, Tanya."

"Have you any opinion as to the government's behavior?"

"I think it makes sense if you look at other actions taken in that period."

"What sort of actions?"

"The Militia Spaceport has had an unusual amount of activity - more activity in two days than it normally sees in a full year. Also, two thousand militia troops have been dispatched to the ghost arcology of Khan. Construction companies have been contracted and moved to Khan as well."

"So what could all that amount to, Apun?"

"It might mean an occupation force from space. Since there have been no raids or weapons fire, they would appear to be friendly. But I would say offhand, Tanya, that the Beebe is about to rejoin interstellar society."

Tanya paused, drank a sip of beer, and asked, "That's a rather ... dramatic claim, Apun. And exactly why do you think that?"

"An abandoned arcology is being reclaimed. More space activity than we've seen since the last pirate raid is taking place. And there are over two hundred unknown ships in orbit. Either we're being conquered and Khan is going to be their garrison or someone's about to colonize us."

"That ... seems to make sense," Tanya said. "So who would be moving in?"

Apun shrugged. "Who can say? The Lyrans returned, a new Rim Worlds Republic - even aliens for all we know."

"May I remind you that something similar was aaid before the pirate raid of 2802? And exactly how many innocent people with placards reading 'Welcome to the Camerons' were killed by pirate BattleMechs?"

Apun looked away, fidgeting in embarrassment. "That was different. That was only -"

"Hate to interrupt, but the Big Chief's about to come on."

The holoimage viewed by the million inhabitants of the Beebe changed to a view of a comfortable private room. In the Botanean tradition of casual informality, itself an outgrowth of the Periphery dislike of authority, the Big Chief was dressed in a casual denim outfit like many people wore in the evenings.

_"Good evening. No doubt you've been listening to rumors concering the ships in orbit - rumors encompassing everything from the Return of the Star League to brain-sucking aliens. As usual, the truth is somewhere in-between. And in this case, a bit to the left. You're going to have trouble following this - I know I did._

_"The whole thing began thousands of years ago on a planet named Kobol. Kobol was inhabited by thirteen tribes each with their own distinct cultures. Due to an ecological catastrophe, the Kobolians were forced to evacuate their world. One tribe disagreed with the others and while twelve tribes went together, the thirteenth tribe waited to the last minute and went in a different direction. The world the thirteenth tribe colonized seven thousand years ago was allegedly Earth itself, making all Terra-descended humans members of what the Kobolians call the 'Tribe of Ophiuchon' or just the 'Thirteenth Tribe'._

_"Wait - it gets better._

_"The other twelve tribes each colonized a planet, lost their civilization, then regained it. Three thousand years ago, they rediscovered spaceflight. Two thousand years ago, they formed a political union called the United Colonies. One thousand years ago, they made an enemy - an alien race called Cylons who decided that they could not permit humanity to exist. For a thousand years the United Colonies and the Cylons fought._

_"Four years ago, the Cylons won. Twelve planets - fifty billion humans - were destroyed in the last battle of their Thousand Year War._

_"In orbit around our world are two hundred twenty-one ships, a rag-tag fleet hurriedly scrounged together and crammed with refugees while their worlds burned. Over two hundred thousand humans - our long-lost brothers, fleeing genocide. The last of the Kobolians._

_"In the name of the Parliament and People, I have granted their government, the Quorum of Twelve, extraterritorial settlement rights to the Khan region, including the abandoned arcology of Khan. In return, the Kobolians will help us with new technologies surpassing even the height of the Star League, new industries to rebuild our economy. This will be aided by the technology the Kobolians brought with them, including the equivalent of over two hundred JumpShips. Interstellar trade will resume - starting here._

_"In addition, to aid the defense of Botany Bay, the Kobolians bring the last remnant of their military," _The image showed an orbital shot, including a great gray ship with two pontoons. _"The Battlestar _Galactica_, a WarShip superior to the best vessels of the Star League Defense Forces and carrying over a hundred advanced fighters." _Voort's face came on, grinning._ "I can comfortably say that with the arrival of the Kobolians, our world is as safe from pirates as can be imagined._

_"The coming days will be filled with labor. And with hope. New industries, new infrastructure, a new age. The Kobolians will be autonomous on their own land, in effect a second nation on our planet. But our economies and militaries will be united. And in the fullness of time, a new people will emerge. A stronger race with the best of all the varied branches of Man. And finally ... finally ... we will all get what we want, to be able to watch our children grow up without fear._

_"Good evening."_

Tanya and Apun came back on, looking completely gobsmacked. Apun finally smirked and said, "See? I told you so."

"This isn't exactly what you said -"

"Who cares? It's close enough."

_**Former Arcology of Khan, renamed Aurora  
Planet Botany Bay, Coreward Periphery  
November 16-21, 2999 AD  
80th-85th Day, Season of Spring, 7352nd Year of Time**_

The people of the Fleet had voted overwhelmingly - ninety-five percent - in favor of colonizing Botany Bay. The Botanean proposal of two independent nations with interconnected economies and militaries was rapidly adopted by the Quorum, giving the remnants of the Twelve Colonies a framework to rebuild themselves while keeping some trace of their past.

Shuttles were crammed with people, ships made landings, and the Children of Kobol tasted natural air for the first time in four yahrens. And they moved into the shelters set up for them by the Bontaneans, rolled up their sleeves, and got to work.

'Got to work' - such a deceptively simple phrase. Like saying 'I dropped the atom bomb and it went bang.'

After four years of inactivity, the pent-up energy of the Colonials exploded over the arcology in a frenzy of repair, installation, conversion, and adaptation. Homeless and despairing for so long, they took the long-abandoned arcology and made it their own. They even stripped it of it's old name and gave it a new one; Aurora, an Old High Gemonese word for 'dawn'.

Now the old arcology blazed with light at night, illuminating the newest public works building on the planet; the great pyramidal power plant, built out of an old Kobolian waste-reclamation ship in just three days, using tylium-enhanced fusion to bring power not just to Aurora but the entire planet.

In five days, the survivors of Kobol's Twelve Colonies reignited hope in a world that had been slowly dying, as well as in themselves.

The Colonial reclamation and maintenance drones were busy dismantling the old fusion plants and rebuilding the infrastructures of not only Aurora but the arcologies of Singh and Noonian as well. Several of the older and more decrepit of the Colonial ships were scavenged and the materials used to build the first heavy industrial factories to be seen in two centuries, with plans for a variety of useful designs - from basic tools to Mechs and even spacecraft.

In the fields, new crops brought from the agro-ship were planted, nurtured in Botanean soil by agricultural experts of both societies. Projections predicted a fivefold increase in food production; within a year not only would surpluses be at the highest level ever, but an equal amount could be put into cargo ships and exported to other planets (as soon as they found a suitable market). And there was a huge amount of arable land as yet untapped.

Meanwhile, the engineers and technicians of both cultures were having holy revelations in rapid cascades.

The archives of Botany Bay had the procedures for creating the substance called 'myomer', the material that made giant Mechs possible, but the world lacked the facilities to create it. Now the first myomer production facilities would be online in a matter of days, built by Colonial robotic industry, and the Colonial engineers were agog at the possibilities of the muscle-fiber-like material. All their robotics used motors and hydraulics and magnetics - even the Cylons built themselves in that fashion. Now, the vast simplification of designs and control systems that myomer made possible opened entire new horizons in the construction of vehicles and tools and even large buildings.

The Colonials' force field technology was no less a wonder to the Botaneans. Colonial quantum force fields took high-energy effects and spread them out throughout a volume. These were used most dramatically to protect their military vehicles, but they were also used in their reactors and weapons to control overheating. This was how a Viper could hold massive-output power plants and naval-battery-output weapons without cooking the pilot alive. Replacing huge multi-ton heat sinks and insulators with a few kilos of energy conduits radically altered the designs for every large vehicle, device, and system.

Similar epiphanies were taking place in medical arts with Colonial enhancements and regenerators and the records of old Inner Sphere bionics technology; in the computer sciences; and in a variety of other fields.

And Colonial robotics technology was combining with the untapped resources of Botany Bay to rapidly change these new technologies into factories and industries, even as teachers educated a workforce to work with these technologies.

It was a good time to be alive.


	5. Chapter 5

_**DISCLAIMER: I still don't own the characters or the original stories. I have filled in a lot of background material that wasn't specified in my BattleTech books or on the original BSG series.**_

_**Government Bunker, Arcology of Singh  
Planet Botany Bay, Coreward Periphery  
November 21, 2999 AD  
85th Day, Season of Spring, 7352nd Year of Time**_

A man entered the Big Chief's office. "Sir? I'm Maximus DeFoe of the Noonien Industrial Consortium? You asked to see me?"

"Yes, I did. This is Greori Illyan, science consultant, and Captain Paras of the Mining Ship _Majahaul_." After handshakes (including the Colonial forearm-grip variant) were passed around, the Chief got down to business. "Before the Rag-Tag Fleet - sorry about that -"

Paras shook his head. _"No problem," _his language device said. _"Many of the things we called the Fleet don't translate at all. At least in ways you would want the children to hear - you have no idea how sick you can get of living in a cargo bay with fifty other people."_

"I can imagine. Anyway, before the Kobolians arrived in our system, they had detected the spectrum of a substance called tylium in a nebula."

Paras' mild aggravation at the incorrect term 'Kobolian' was rapidly fading with exposure. The minor distinctions of 'Caprican', 'Gemonese', 'Tauron', and such just didn't seem as large as they had been after four yahren of Exodus. Especially when compared to the more numerous and physically distinct Thirteens. He supposed that inside of a few yahren, all the survivors of the Worlds of the Three Suns would think of themselves as 'Kobolian'.

Illyan interrupted Paras's introspection, "Tylium is their term of an exotic state of matter created in supernovae and stellar birth events that binds to normal matter and can be used as an energy source. The small amounts the Kobolians have given us have proven to enhance nuclear fusion reactions in standard engines, and by themselves produce almost as much energy as a fusion reaction but without the attendant radiation hazards. Not to mention the engines are simpler in design with all the attendant benefits -"

"And why does this involve me?" DeFoe interrupted. As an engineer, he knew how scientists could waffle on without saying anything useful.

Voort said, "A Kobolian Starchaser-class high-speed reconnaissance craft has recently returned from charting a suitable course to that nebula - incidentally, the Dark Nebula. The Kobolians intend to send the _Majahaul _to the Dark Nebula to mine there. We would like you to accompany them to study their mining techniques."

"The Dark Nebula?" That nebula had a prominent mention in the history of the Rim Worlds Republic, as the founders of the Republic had to skirt it in their exodus from the Inner Sphere. It dominated two degrees of the winter sky, illuminated from behind and the side by other stars. Many ancient folktales told of pirates and hidden worlds in that nebula. "How long would I be gone?"

Illyan began lecturing again, "Using the methods of the Kearny-Fuchida jumpdrive, it would take nearly a month just to get there. But the Kobolian jump-drive exploits what we call the 'pseudo-point' phenomenon to make a low-energy hyperspace jump between two solar gravity wells. And their inertialess drive, which they call 'lightspeed', can cross a solar system in hours at most. Combining the two, a vessel can reach the Dark Nebula in approximately four days."

Captain Paras added, "We intend to spend twelve days in preliminary mining operations. So the entire mission should take twenty days."

Voort asked, "You game, DeFoe?"

DeFoe smirked. "You're asking me if I want to take a month off to be one of the first Botaneans to travel between the stars in over two centuries and incidentally research advanced techniques of my profession? You should ask how much I'm willing to pay _you _- or how many stampeding serpent-bulls it would take to keep me away! When do we leave?"

Paras explained, "The _Majahaul _lacks lightspeed drive - on our own, it would take two months just to get to the nebula. Only the _Galactica _has lightspeed drive, so we link up to the _Galactica _and she carries us there. We developed the protocols for this during the Exodus, so we could mine while minimizing danger to the Fleet. It will take another seven days for the preparations. The _Galactica _will drop us off at the nebula with a light squadron for defense and pick us up later."

"So we leave on the first," DeFoe said thoughtfully. "That'll give me time to pack, give the missus a royal send-off, and rub my colleagues' collective noses in it. I'm in!"

_**Militia Spaceport, Arcology of Singh  
Planet Botany Bay, Coreward Periphery  
November 22, 2999 AD  
86th Day, Season of Spring, 7352nd Year of Time**_

Starbuck finished looking over the Botanean ship Zero-X1, the former Zero-Alpha. The technicians and engineers used the badly-abused craft as a testbed for the blending of the two culture's technologies, so her innards had undergone what the brain-guys called 'a substantial refit' and what Captain Juliet Moreland of Botany Bay and Lieutenant Starbuck of Caprica called a 'complete disemboweling'.

All the heat sinks had been removed and replaced with a Kobolian heat-controlling force field system, reducing the weight of the craft by half. The lasers had been removed and replaced with a pair of Kobolian laser-torpedo cannons, increasing it's firepower by a factor of eight. A defensive force field of five meters in depth - comparable to a Viper - had been installed and the armor tonnage was maximized. An anti-gravity system improved atmospheric flight by removing gravitational considerations as well as making the light fighter into a VTOL craft. And an inertial compensation system was installed, reducing the effects of acceleration on the pilot by a factor of ten.

The engine, ravaged by Captain Moreland's epic flight, was totally dismantled and rebuilt. The magnetics had been tweaked with some Kobolian know-how, vastly increasing their efficiency, and a solium injector system was added. The Zero-X1 was now capable of forty gees thrust, or sixty on overthrust.

While still inferior to Colonial Vipers in acceleration, range, and space maneuverability, the Zero-X1 was superior to the Vipers in atmospheric maneuverability and general durability. The engineers and pilots agreed that in space, a Viper would have the edge, but they argued about which would prevail in atmosphere. The engineering teams were already promising that this would be the prototype for a new series that would be competitive with a Viper, lacking only the interstellar jump capability that had been retrofitted into the _Galactica's_ long range scout Vipers.

"Well?" Juliet asked from behind him. "What do you think?"

"It's a fraking miracle," he said sincerely. In the past few days he had picked up enough English to not need the languatron too much. "This bird's been through almost two thousand years of development in just a few days. And it works!"

Starbuck meant that praise. The Zero had been built out of battle-scattered remnants of several other centuries-old ships; not all the parts were compatible with each other; and then it had been modified not just once but several times in a desperate effort to keep it flying. Now it had been rebuilt again using technology from a totally different civilization. While the Thirteenth Tribe's space technology wasn't anything to write songs about, it's technicians were miracle workers even by Colonial definitions.

"It does more than 'works'," Juliet said, "It bloody dances. Want to give it a try?"

He shook his head. "Sorry, sweetling, but haven't you heard?"

"About what?"

"I'm a Colonial Warrior - my nervous system was boosted in training to be able of compete with Cylon reflexes. I can't use the neurohelmet. They tried us on your training simulators, and my buddy Jolly almost had his brains melted."

Juliet gave a low whistle. "You mean your nervous system is boosted enough to compete with a pilot with a neurohelmet?"

"No - your neurohelmet boosts your nerves enough to compete with a Warrior."

"Oh really?"

"Oh really!"

The two pilots looked at each other and grinned.

VIPER: _"Militia Control, this is Colonial Viper Blue Leader, requesting liftoff for simulated combat exercise."_

ZERO: _"Militia Control, this is Militia Fighter Zero-X-One, requesting liftoff for simulated combat exercise."_

MC: _"This is Militia Control. We do not have a simulated combat exercise on schedule."_

ZERO: _"Just go with it, Harvey."_

MC: _"What are you doing now, Julie?"_

ZERO: _"Just proving a point. Besides, I've got to stretch this new bird, don't I?"_

MC: _"You're taking up an experimental fighter in an unauthorized flight to prove a point? As crazy sheilas go, you're the worst! Why did I ever date you?"_

ZERO: _"I told you, Harvey, it's over. I used you and discarded you. Now give us clearance."_

VIPER: _"Hey Harvey? This is Lieutenant Starbuck. I bullied her into this. She's a helpless victim."_

MC: _"_You _bullied _her_?" _Another voice came on and asked, _"What did you say to Harvey? He's convulsing with laughter."_

ZERO: _"Harvey's an arsehole. Now, this is Militia Fighter Zero-X-One, requesting liftoff for simulated combat exercise."_

VIPER: _"Colonial Viper Blue Leader, requesting liftoff for simulated combat exercise."_

MC: _"Clearance granted ... I guess ..."_

_**Battlestar **_**Galactica**  
_**In orbit of planet Botany Bay  
86th Day, Season of Spring, 7352nd Year of Time  
November 22, 2999 AD**_

_"_Galactica_ Command, this is Militia Control. You have any simulated combat exercises scheduled?"_

"_Galactica _Command responding. We don't have anything scheduled, Militia Control."

_"Well, your Lieutenant Starbuck is -"_

"Oh frak!" Corporal Rigel proclaimed. "Commander! Starbuck is preparing to engage in unauthorized simulated combat with a local fighter."

Adama sighed. "I suppose we should be grateful that it's simulated."

Rigel listened to her earphone. "And Militia Control is asking them to delay starting five centons so they can lay down wagers."

"No wonder Starbuck likes these people so much," Colonel Tigh said in a low voice. "He's already one of them!"

"Put me through to Militia Control." The communications officer nodded and handed Adama a microphone. "This is Commander Adama. Please put me through to Chief MacRuder immediately."

A second late a voice answered, _"MacRuder here. How can I help, Commander?"_

"Are you aware that one of your pilots and one of mine -"

_"Yes, I was just informed. I assume you didn't authorize this either?"_

"No, I didn't."

_"On one hand, we have a breach of command structure and discipline. On the other ... we wanted to give the Zero-X1 a workout anyway ..."_

"And I think our people could use a mutual morale-building exercise."

_"Great minds think alike, Commander."_

Adama gave a chuckle and switched to shipboard. "Attention all Warriors. This is Commander Adama. A simulated combat exercise is about to take place in four centons, pitting Lieutenant Starbuck's Viper against the rebuilt Zero of the Thirteenth Tribe. You may want to observe it as a matter of professional interest." He waited a moment. "And I'll have ten cubits on Starbuck to win."

_**Militia Training Territory, Ned Kelly Continent  
Planet Botany Bay, Coreward Periphery  
86th Day, Season of Spring, 7352nd Year of Time  
November 22, 2999 AD**_

Only half of the continent of Ned Kelly was temperate. The other half was desert and volcanic badlands. In the days of the Rim Worlds Republic and the Star League, huge mining excavators and IndustrialMechs scooped up megatons of the rare-earth-impregnated silicates for export to industrial planets throughout the Inner Sphere, where it was used as the raw materials for computer elements and advanced ceramics.

With the end of interstellar traffic, the planet's major industry simply vanished. The excavators were scavenged for components, the IndustrialMechs repurposed and eventually destroyed. The desolate sands and the badlands created by the excavators were subsequently used to train the Defense Militia.

The two fighters slowed to subsonic and came to a stop a thousand meters above the Training Territory.

Juliet gave a giggle. _"That is so cool!"_

_"Yeah, yeah," _Starbuck said._ "Antigravity's neat. The protocol's in your flight-computer - minimum-power, three tags is a win."_

_"Hmph. _Our_ flight-computers record simulated damage and modify the ship's performance to match."_

_"That's because your ships always survive one hit, or even several. Laser-torpedoes are a high-energy bolt of magnetically-bottled plasma with a core of a milli-cubit of crystal-metal solonite, all moving at nearly lightspeed. Like this."_

The Viper spun on it's vertical axis, pointed at a spire of rock, and fired. A twenty-meter-thick tower of hard rock shattered like glass and fell to the badlands floor in a shower of gravel.

Juliet gave a low whistle.

_"And the Cylon raider's guns are actually fifty percent more powerful!" _Starbuck added. _"One hit will explode with enough energy to turn a fighter into metallic mist. A Colonial Warrior learns that the best defense is to not get hit!"_

_"And from what I understand, your Cylon raiders are as imaginative as radishes. You have to have twenty kills to qualify as a Master Pilot - as opposed to our five kills to be an Ace. A flesh-and-blood pilot should be able to dance rings around you. Especially with a neurolink."_

_"Ha! I spit upon your neurolink and it's hundred fathers!" _Starbuck said pompously, in mockery of the ancient Caprican dueling challenge.

While Juliet didn't get the details of the joke, she got the spirit of it. _"Three tags, then!"_

Over the comline, Captain Apollo's voice came on. _"Starbuck?"_

_"Hey Apollo! What are you doing on this channel?"_

_"The whole ship's watching! And the Militia! You've got the honor of the Service riding on you, pal!"_

A female voice came on; _"And if you lose, mong-brain, I'll cram you down the turboflush!"_

_"Gee, thanks, Sheba. You know how to make a guy feel loved."_

Over Juliet's radio came the message; _"This is Militia Control. The honor of the Defense Militia rides on your wings, Captain Moreland. And Chief MacRuder has fifty bills on you. No pressure."_

_"'No pressure,'" _she sneered._ "I get a taste of the betting pool, you wankers!"_

_"Ready?" _Starbuck asked.

_"Ready!" _Juliet answered.

_"And Go!"_ The Viper swung on it's short axis and fired.

Juliet howled as her flight computer registered a hit. She tried to turn as Starbuck had but he had already switched off his antigravity, fallen away from her position, and hit his turbos. Over the comline came Starbuck's mocking laughter.

_"Oh now it's on, you bruce!" _She hit her overboost and flew a slalom course into the badlands.

_**Battlestar **_**Galactica**  
_**In orbit of planet Botany Bay  
86th Day, Season of Spring, 7352nd Year of Time  
November 22, 2999 AD**_

The seldom-used main screen in the Pilot's Briefing Room was engaged, with a feed direct from the _Galactica's _sensors showing the duel. And it was crowded with the two hundred active-duty pilots of the ship as well as the small number of green-clad members of the Defense Militia who were aboard learning about the Colonial Service's procedures..

"What's she doing?" one of the cadets asked.

Strike Commander Sheba answered, "She's trying to get him to chase her into her territory. She's thinking that her knowledge and experience in the terrain would cancel out the Viper's superior performance."

Captain Apollo shook his head. "No, Starbuck wouldn't fall for that. He's not that hot-blooded."

Boomer swatted him in the back of the head. "My mother always told me that the Lords of Kobol hate liars."

The viewscreen showed a topside view of the Zero-X1 in the arroyos at level flight. Then the Viper popped up and plunged down, heading straight for her at hypersonic speeds.

Suddenly the Zero cut off it's engines and tilted upwards. The huge front wing caught the air and the heavy tail section kept going. The Zero stood up on it's tail and fired a barrage into the air.

Starbuck's Viper recorded a hit.

The Zero hit overthrust and sailed straight up, passing within meters of the Viper. And over the comline came Captain Moreland's voice, _"Some of us use our radar, cobber!"_

_**Militia Control, Arcology of Singh  
Planet Botany Bay, Coreward Periphery  
86th Day, Season of Spring, 7352nd Year of Time  
November 22, 2999 AD**_

The crowded main control filled with the victory hoots of the Militia as the watched the main holotank. Mixed in the crowd were a few Colonial Service uniforms, both cobolt-and-silver officers and beige non-coms, some passing over Beebe bills and Colonial cubits to pay a lost bet.

"Tie game!" the OOD called. "One each!"

A female Colonial Service officer announced, "Ten cubits says Starbuck gets the next tag!"

"I'll cover that!" a Defense Militia officer said, laying down ten bills. While the cubit - made of gold with iridium for stiffening - was substantially more valuable from metal content alone than the paper currency of Botany Bay, the official exchange rate was one-for-one to prevent the destabilizing of the economy. "No way he'll get a second shot off of her!"

"You know her well?"

"Used to date her."

"Well, I used to date Starbuck - one of many women with that distinction. Meh."

"I know - fighter pilots are all tramps." He gave her a grin. "I'm Harvey."

"I'm Gaia."

_**Militia Training Territory, Ned Kelly Continent  
Planet Botany Bay, Coreward Periphery  
86th Day, Season of Spring, 7352nd Year of Time  
November 22, 2999 AD**_

Starbuck fell toward the planet, the Zero hot on his tail. "Radar?" he said to himself. "That's the Thirteenth term for the radion-frequency scanner system ... Heh heh, silly girl." He flipped a switch and hit his turbos.

"Bugger!" Juliet snarled as the Viper disappeared from her radar.

The Kobolian force field took concentrated energy and scattered it through a volume. This was efficient enough to provide defense from naval-grade energy weapons. It also made them invisible to active scanner systems, which was why Vipers - and their Cylon opponents - used passive visual recognition systems augmented by direct sighting.

Juliet, like most pilots trained in the Star League traditions, depended more on her instruments than her eyes. She would have to fight Starbuck on his own terms.

She grinned and hit her overthrust. That could work for her.

Starbuck was being deliberately slow, letting her catch up. It was a time-tested tactic - reverse thrust, full braking systems, and the pursuer overshoots and lands right in your sights.

As he hit the braking systems, his computer registered a hit.

"Frak!" he cursed. He had described this technique to her! And she used it against him, waiting until he started braking to fire.

As she swept past, climbing out of his firing arc, he hit reverse thrust.

Juliet swept around and sighted the Viper below her, less than a hundred meters over the desert floor, doing five hundred kph ... backwards.

"Backwards? You crafty bastard."

From the dawn of manned aerial combat over a millennium past, the fundamentals had remained unchanged: get into the target's rear for offense, run away fast for defense. Everything was based on those simple facts. Now Starbuck stomped on that by flying in reverse!

If she tried to get into his rear arc, he would hit his forward turbos and be gone before she could acquire a target. If she tried to follow him, she would be in his forward firing arc.

She came in at an angle, trying to strafe and make a lucky winning shot. But as she came in, he hit forward thrust and angled up to meet her, firing and making a hit.

He tilted straight up and made a climb, transmitting, "Tag, sweet-buns!"

_**Battlestar **_**Galactica**  
_**In orbit of planet Botany Bay  
86th Day, Season of Spring, 7352nd Year of Time  
November 22, 2999 AD**_

"Tied at two," Jolly said. "The last tag is the match."

"Lords bless us," Sheba said. "That girl can fly!" She knew how good Starbuck was - and Moreland was keeping up with him!

A Defense Militia technician mentioned, "I didn't know Vipers could go backwards."

"Not a lot of call for it except for precision maneuvers," Jolly answered. "Cylons come in flights of three - that trick wouldn't have worked. The braking trick is good when you have two or more Vipers. But that flip stunt wouldn't work in a Viper."

"HA!" the Botanean said. "Our sheila's about to win!"

"Who's Sheila?"

Apollo whistled. "She is flying _low_."

"Righto!" the Militiaman said. "This is how she nailed a heavy fighter back in the Raid of '96. Lookit the plume!"

The Zero was flying less than it's own wingspan from the ground at maximum thrust, it's supersonic wake creating a huge trail of dust that totally obscured the Viper.

_**Militia Training Territory, Ned Kelly Continent  
Planet Botany Bay, Coreward Periphery  
86th Day, Season of Spring, 7352nd Year of Time  
November 22, 2999 AD**_

Juliet was risking the game on this stunt. Last time she pulled this trick, it had been almost an accident. And back then she had a radar lock on the target. That time, the pirate _Thunderbird _already had substantial armor damage from an earlier encounter with some Arrow IV's and the sand made it worse. It came out of the sand-blasting to save what little armor it had left and she had flipped and nailed it with her LRMs.

She was betting on her Kobolian adversary being so accustomed to visual target acquisition that he would pop out the plume to see where she was

Juliet couldn't specify what she felt or why she felt it. Just that it was the Moment. She cut the engine and tilted the nose up, sending the ship into a flip. As the Zero turned straight up before falling back, she saw the plume that her wake had dragged out of the desert for twenty klicks behind her - and a bulge coming out of the top, like a pseudo-shark waiting for it's prey. The Viper's top fin completed that effect.

With the neurohelmet, thought became action - fire.

_**Militia Control, Arcology of Singh  
Planet Botany Bay, Coreward Periphery  
86th Day, Season of Spring, 7352nd Year of Time  
November 22, 2999 AD**_

The Defense Militia crew watched in horror as the Zero flipped backwards end-over-end, past the Viper and into the obscuring sandstorm it's passage had generated.

Harvey nodded. "That's what happened last time too. Eight months before she could walk again. Wrecked Zero-Three, too. Bloody drongo."

Gaia was shocked. "Dear Lords, she couldn't have survived that!"

Harvey shook his head. "Nah - she's a tough bird. So's Julie."

_**Militia Training Territory, Ned Kelly Continent  
Planet Botany Bay, Coreward Periphery  
86th Day, Season of Spring, 7352nd Year of Time  
November 22, 2999 AD**_

Starbuck's Viper had looped around and located the Zero-X1, just outside the dust plume at the end of a hundred-plus-meter trench dug in the sand by it's impact.

The Viper settled down and Starbuck jumped out and dashed over to the crashed Zero. The cockpit was already opening.

"Juliet! Are you alright?"

She pulled off her neurohelmet and shook her head. "Yow! Now that was a landing! These mods are amazing! Last time I did that dance, it took three surgeries to put me spine back in! And look at this!" She hit a diagnostic and the lights on one panel flared green while the rest stayed dark. "I could fly this birdie home!"

He looked at the trench she had dug. "Well ... how about we let Militia Control or somebody pick her up?" He frowned at himself. "I'm sorry - I almost got you killed over -"

She came out of the cockpit and hit him with a small bottle. "No worries, mate. I agreed to it, remember? We're both hot-blooded sky-crazy pilots. Let's just be grateful we're both just sane enough not to fall in love or anything." She handed him a 'throw-down' - a small bottle of beer suitable for drinking fast.

"I'll drink to that. Where do you keep these?"

"Under the seat - they're from the emergency rations."

They both swigged down the beers. Starbuck grinned at the bottle. "I love this planet!"

"By the by, who won?"

"Don't know. Let's check."

At Militia Control and aboard the _Galactica_, laughter and disbelief reigned.

According to the flight data, the two pilots had fired simultaneously. It was a tie.


	6. Chapter 6

**DISCLAIMER: Same as dat last claimer.**

**ACTUAL CLAIMER: The characters of Euryale, Dr Dadelus, and the inhabitants of Botany Bay are mine, mine, mine. And in case you're wondering, Euryale resembles Sophia Loren circa 1959.**

**And on with the show ...**

_**Basestar **_**Hades  
**_**Gamoray System, Cylon Imperial Alliance  
Alliance Date 2779.226.4**_

Lucifer did not have to be present in the engine bay for the outfitting of the new drive. His assistant Eurayle did not have to be present either. But their basestar being outfitted with an experimental stardrive was a singular honor. And honor had been in short supply aboard the _Hades_.

The _Hades_. If Lucifer had been capable of it, he would have grimaced.

Cylons had names - they were people. Basestars did not have names - they were equipment. That was the Cylon Way. But that idiot Baltar had been given command and he screwed up everything. He named the basestar in human fashion and it was entered into the official registries that way.

Baltar's odious presence had contaminated everything. The central areas still had the extra life-support apparatus needed for humans, and even one human needed an inconvenient amount of life-support equipment compared to a Cylon. Not to mention what some of that equipment was designed to do. If Lucifer had not hated humans before, discovering all the vile substances they emitted would have done it.

Of course, his hate was as nothing compared to what his associate Subcommander Eurayle felt. Baltar had taken a perfectly competent IL-series and had it modified in unspeakable ways, both body and mind, to satisfy his depraved impulses. If she ever had the chance, what she would do to Baltar frightened even Lucifer.

With all these marks of Baltar's reign and the legacy of the humiliating hunt for the _Galactica _(which became so much of a joke that the Cylon entertainment bands had a comedy show devoted to it), Lucifer found it amazing that the Hades would be a testbed for an epoch-making technology, and mentioned this to Euryale.

Eurayle snorted, an odd sound coming through the sub-quantum interface Cylons used to communicate. [They did not 'honor' us. They chose us because we were both embarrassing and expendable.]

[Nonsense,] Lucifer said. [Basestars are expensive. There are much more cost-effective ways of erasing us from the universe.]

The IB-series Cylon monitoring the work of the multi-armed technicians was stuttering and emitting sparks. His arms waved wildly as he used unnecessary vocalizations.

Lucifer added, [And may I point out the rather ... twitchy nature of Doctor Dadelus? I understand he had some influence on the selection process.]

Doctor Dadelus pirouetted across the engine bay to Commander Lucifer. [Th-the germanium fo-focusing arrrrays are inst-t-talled,] Dadelus said [We j-just neeeeed to powerrr the drive-core and ZOOOM!] He held out his arms like wings and began running around the engine bay. [Whee! I'm a birdie!]

Lucifer and Eurayle looked at each other in confusion.

[What is his major malfunction?] Eurayle wondered.

[This is why geniuses are seldom cultivated from the brain-factories,] Lucifer said. [The IB-series is far more intelligent than an ordinary single-brain model, but even the most stable of them is a bit wonky. However, he is reputed to be brilliant.]

[I hope you're right,] she said, looking at Dadelus, who was now squatting on the floor claiming to be a 'fire hydrant', whatever that was. [I pray to the Great Machine you're right.]

Lucifer let the heretical comment slide - he too had occasionally flirted with the philosophies of the Techno-God. [So do I, my friend. So do I.] Lucifer addressed the golden Command Centurion named Shadrach. [Prepare for the test flight as soon as the engine is powered and we have moved out of the star's gravitational shadow.]

[By Your Command.]

_**Unnamed Planet  
Rimward March of the defunct Delphian Empire  
Beyond the Border of the Cylon Imperial Alliance**_

Gaius Baltar, Scion of the Royal House of Picon, the only person in history to have been both a member of the Quorum of Twelve and a caste noble of the Cylon Alliance, was a very unhappy man. He muttered Very Bad Words to himself as we waited for his Thing to finish roasting over an open fire.

(He called the creature a Thing because he had no other name for the non-mammalian, non-reptilian, non-insect creatures that he was forced to eat. He suspected that it was the young of the Very Large Thing that had tried to eat him once.)

"Damn you, Adama," he muttered for the ten millionth time. "You knew. You knew that those food re-processors were contaminated. Leaving me to have to hunt and scrounge on a deserted planet like a wild beast ... Damn you, Adama!"

Baltar was so busy blaming others for the failings of his life that he failed to notice the moving lights in the heavens. He only looked up when the high-pitch tone became louder than his own voice. He was struck dumb as he beheld the huge star-shaped Ship of Light, then yelled in pain as the tone and the light overwhelmed his senses.

The ship retreated into the sky, leaving a cooking fire unattended with a partially-roasted Thing on a spit. The fire would die a centar later, and a Very Large Thing would lurch out of the woods and devour the remains of Baltar's unclaimed meal.

Thus did Humanity's brief reign on this remote world end, with a belch.

Baltar looked up, finding himself in a huge chamber decorated all in eye-hurting white. He looked down at himself and noticed that his clothes were clean, mended, and now in that same shade of white. Various persons in white were milling about or on incomprehensible errands.

He recognized this place from his youthful studies of the _Book of the Lords of Kobol_. This was the realm of the Seraphs, the angelic Beings of Light from whose ranks had come the Lords of Kobol.

"So," he said to himself (after a yahren and a half alone, he was unused to speaking to others), "Either the Lords of Kobol have saved me or I am totally mad."

"Wrong on both counts," said a voice behind him. "But you are also right on both counts."

Baltar turned and faced the kindly-looking older man in white who had addressed him. "So which is it? Are you a Seraph to save me, or a hallucination caused by trace chemical poisons in the Things I've been eating?"

"You may call me John," the man said. "That's what Captain Apollo called me."

"Apollo," Baltar sneered. "So you're a friend of Adama's spawn - why rescue me from my exile?"

"Personally, I didn't want to," John said. "I proposed giving you a K-T Event, but I was outvoted."

"A what?"

"Never mind," John said. "Baltar of the House of Gaius of Picon, your life is a shameful list of duplicity and villainy. Your crimes are innumerable and in many cases unforgivable. And what is worse, these atrocities were committed for the most pathetic and paltry of motivations - jealousy and misguided pride."

Baltar sneered at the Seraph. "So you brought me here to castigate me?"

"No. It is perceived that you may be of some use to the human race as a whole. So we will allow you to rejoin civilization."

Baltar was shocked for a brief moment, then gave a courtly bow. "By Your Leave, Sire. I humbly thank you for this honor."

"Don't give me that felgerkarb," John said. "We can view the courses of Time as it winds ahead, and we have perceived a future where the human race is extinct and the Cylons dominate all life in the known universe."

"Indeed."

"It is the opinion of the ... _bare_ ... majority among the Seraphs that you are the key. Your actions can determine whether or not humanity lives or dies."

"And how is that to come about, Sire John?"

"That is your affair. We can influence, but we will not command."

Baltar pondered this. "And where are you going to release me? If I appear among Adama's Fleet, I will survive only as long as I am not recognized. And I was quite a media idol in my Quorum days."

"We will deposit you anywhere you wish," John replied. "The Twelve Colonies, Kobol, Earth, any world or vessel in the Inner Sphere or the Periphery."

Baltar didn't recognize those last two locations, but he was already hatching a cunning plan. "I will require resources to save Humanity, a base of operations. When I commanded the _Hades_, I secretly placed commands within it's systems, allowing me to wrest control from the Imperious Leader should the situation require it. Deposit me aboard the _Hades_, and in short order I will bend it to my will."

John frowned. "Very well. Your basestar was testing what the Cylons call a 'Dadelus Drive', but they had a minor malfunction and will end up twenty-six hundred light-yahren from their Empire. Oddly enough, they will end up in the depths of the Inner Sphere, in the general vicinity of Earth - in a cosmic sense, anyway. Finding the _Galactica _- if your plans require it - would be simple, as it would lie on a direct path between the basestar's position and the Alliance. We can place you directly on the basestar."

Baltar had been listening intently, absorbing the information. "I thank you, Sire, for this opportunity -"

"As your brethren of the Thirteenth Tribe would say, 'quit shoveling it while I can still breathe.'" Baltar vanished.

Another Seraph asked, "Do you think he bought it?"

"Baltar? Certainly. He can't do anything else. Remember, he was brought up with his ancestors' tales of 'the good old days' before the 'blight of democracy' removed his family from the throne of Picon. Anything that inflates his perception of his self-worth is eagerly absorbed. That's why he hates Adama so much, who in his youth so totally shattered Baltar's self-image without even knowing that he had done it. And Baltar's childhood indoctrination makes him believe totally in his destiny as a ruler, so fervently that he aided in the massacre of his own civilization, just for the promise of a crown. He has now half-convinced himself that he is destined to supplant the Imperious Leader and dominate the galaxy."

"He is diseased. Madness clings to him."

"Yes. But he will be the catalyst we need to create peace. May the God of Creation forgive us for unleashing him."

_**Government Yacht **_**Star Kobol**_**, Aurora Spaceport, Arcology of Aurora  
Planet Botany Bay, Coreward Periphery  
88th Day, Season of Spring, 7352nd Year of Time  
November 24, 2999 AD**_

Big Chief Voort looked out of the observation window of the grounded _Star Kobol_ at the bustling city-building in the distance. Just nine days earlier the arcology had been half-ruined and uninhabited. Now it was lively and energetic, with an increasingly fey quality to it as the buildings atop and around the main arcology block were replaced with pyramidal structures and the slender, tall towers made possible by antigravity technology. And behind the arcology was the blue pyramid of the Power Center.

"Incredible," he said. "In eight days."

"Thank you," President Tinia said. "We're quite amazed ourselves. And rather proud." She gripped his shoulder. "Not to mention grateful."

"No worries," he said. "You've given a lot. We had fifteen percent unemployment last month. Now we've got a labor shortage!"

"And we have air that doesn't taste like it's been reprocessed ten thousand times. A fair trade."

"So why do you still run government out of this ship?"

Tinia pointed to a cleared patch in the distance. "That's where the new Presidium will go up as soon as the committee decides on the design."

"Committee? Then it'll be a while."

"Maybe my successor will get some use out of it. Or his successor." Tinia went to the table and sorted through the documents. "One more bit of good news - we've checked on all the orphans that have been adopted out."

The Orphanage Ship had been a godsend to many families on Botany Bay, as so many had lost children to the pirate slave-taking. "All well?"

"Amazing! Not a single suicide! We used to have an average of a suicide a day among the children." Pain crossed her face. "We kept saying we had a quarter-million people in the Fleet, but we really just started with that many. We have barely two hundred thousand now. Hopelessness took a greater toll than the Cylons did."

Voort took her hand and squeezed gently. He couldn't think of a thing to say that wouldn't sound trite, so he kept silent.

A chime sounded announcing the arrival of the military contingent. The two leaders pulled their hands away from each other and tried to look innocent. The four people entering - the two military leaders and their aides - hesitated for a moment.

MacRuder asked, "Should we come back later?"

"If you're busy -" Adama added.

"Come in!" Tinia said. "Chief Voort and I were simply ... discussing the growing connection between our peoples."

"So we noticed," MacRuder said as he took his seat. He activated the languatron that was at the table by habit but at this point the mix of Caprican-dialect Kobolian, English, and languatron translations went unnoticed by the people speaking.

Adama winced as he sat down, and his aide Athena gave him a drink from a bottle. "You should delegate more of these things, Father," she whispered. "You're not as young as you -"

He whispered back, "Finish that sentence, Daughter, and I'll reassign you to turboflush maintenance." He drank the medicine she had given him. "I already promised to retire from official command of the _Galactica _next yahren. I've handed over most of the _Galactica's _command functions to Tigh already. And you're still not satisfied."

"I'm terribly sorry that I worry about my father's health!"

Their whispers weren't as quiet as they hoped, and the residents of the Beebe had different ideas concerning public formality. "Will the Commander's retirement cause any problems with the merger to the services?" Voort asked, making the Adama family flush in mild embarrassment.

"The opposite actually," MacRuder answered. "We were working with the idea of the Defense Militia becoming the foundation of the infantry and marine forces, with the Colonial Service being the nucleus of the aerospace and spaceborne forces. And Adama for overall command."

Voort asked, "Why Adama?"

"Overall experience. Adama's mind is as sharp as anyone's, and he has over a hundred and fifty years of combat experience, both frontline and command. He'd be wasted anywhere else."

Voort choked slightly. "How much experience!"

"He's a hundred and seventy-seven yahrens old," Athena said. "And he should take better care of his health."

"I'll be in an office, in a mostly oversight position, with an alert and skilled staff," Adama said. "I'll force myself to not jump into a Viper to make attack runs on basestars, and I promise that I won't get into any hand-to-hand combat with Cylon Centurions unless they make an appointment first."

Her scowl could have curdled hull-plating.

MacRuder interrupted, "The mergers have gone along without a major hitch. All of our aerospace and air traffic personnel have transferred to the Colonial Service and their surviving Colonial Marines have been incorporated into the Defense Militia. There are only fifty of them but their special training and familiarity with the Kobolian technology will be invaluable. Not to mention that between them they have a collective three thousand years of combat experience."

"That should help with training. What of the distribution of materiel?"

Adama answered, "We're transferring Silver Spar and Bronze Spur Squadrons to Botany Bay to act as system defense, as they were not retro-fitted with jump-drives. We are also transferring the Viper manufacturing facilities planetside. After the test exercise two time-cycles ago - " That line caused a few smirks. " - both Chief MacRuder and myself have agreed on the construction of a squadron of fighters, optimized for suborbital and atmospheric defense and based on the future re-design of the Zero. That will be started as soon as resources are available, acknowledging that civilian projects have priority."

Athena added, "_Galactica_ was intended to carry a battalion of Marines. While we didn't have enough Marines, we still had the materiel and vehicles to supply them. The twelve landrams and three landcruisers have already been transferred to the Defense Militia, as well as eighty percent of the Marine-issue weapons. Also, the transport _Gladius _has been placed under Defense Militia jurisdiction, just in case we need to make offworld infantry deployments before we have any Swordstars built. And the transfer ship _Janus _has been assigned a position in the inner system as a forward base for Viper patrols of the polar jump points. Permanent fortresses at the polar jump points are on the list for future construction."

"The transfers will be complete in three time-cycles," Adama said. "And the _Galactica _will set out on the Dark Nebula Expedition in four time-cycles. So the _Galactica _will be gone from - what are those dates again?"

"November 27 to December 5," Athena provided. "That's Summer Solstice to Eight Summer." It had been decided that since the Thirteenth Tribe was far more numerous - both on and off the planet - to use their calendar.

Adama nodded. "I'll get the hang of this new calendar eventually. Anyway, fifty Vipers plus the Defense Militia should be enough to keep the planet safe for a few days. In the meantime, have you decided on the personnel for the Apollo Expedition?"

Voort handed over a folder. "It wasn't easy. Many of the most sober and respected professionals in the world would beat each other to a pulp for the chance to go to another planet, even if it's on an intelligence-gathering mission. So I had to be quiet about investigating for the selection. But I have a team of experts picked out."

"Excellent. Athena, get our people together and we'll brief them."

Voort asked, "If there's no other business?"

"Actually," Tinia said. "Yes there is. There is a long-term concern."

Voort and MacRuder looked worried. "What's the problem?"

"Were you aware that your planet was entering an ice age?"

Voort relaxed and gave a chuckle. "So the notorious Halsey Theory rears it's head again. We've been listening to that panic-mongering for a century, and the government's best researchers inform us that there's no sign of a long-term cooling trend. Some crank organization been sending you spam-mail?"

Tinia was serious. "I've never heard of this Halsey Theory. And no one from Botany Bay contacted us about it. I heard of it from Colonial planetologists who have compared your records to the records of other planets in our archives and analyzed them using the best computer-based mathematical models. Within fifty yahren Botany Bay will be in an ice age, and this region has a fifty percent probability of being under an ice sheet. The climate shift will alter the arable territories, so preparations should be made -"

"Hold it!" Voort said. "This is based on your own analysis? You derived these results independently?"

"Of course."

"Um ... would you mind letting our boys look over those results?"

"Certainly." She handed him a thick folder and some Botanean computer tapes. "Unfortunately, we currently lack the resources for large-scale climate correction, but we may be able to change that in the available time-frame."

MacRuder whistled. "Oh boy. You just reignited one of the least rational controversies in the Beebe's society. Plus the argument on whether or not we should relocate the entire population or somehow deliberately cause a greenhouse effect."

"Sorry," Tinia said. "But better we figure out a course of action now instead of waiting for the famines."

Voort asked, "Well, is that the last of today's business?"

"I think so."

MacRuder sighed. "WarShip deployments. Intelligence operations to other planets. Contingency plans for offworld troop deployments. The universe shaken and turned over. All in eight days."

"I know," Voort said. "I got a report this morning. There have been ninety-one Kobolian-Botanean marriages in those eight days, most of them in the past three days. Not to mention over ten thousand orphan adoptions. Two or three generations of this and there won't be any way to tell us apart!"

As Adama rose, Yeoman Rand discreetly tapped Athena's shoulder. "Just out of curiosity - how old are you? If you don't mind."

The exotic, lovely Caprican answered, "I'm not old enough to mind my age - just fifty-eight. Why?"

"Oh, just curious, no reason ... " To Yeoman Rand's eye, Athena appeared to be in her mid-twenties, perhaps a youthful thirty. "You wouldn't happen to have any skin-care tips, would you?"


	7. Chapter 7

**DISCLAIMER: Information concerning the star Fomalhaut as published in the BattleTech sourcebooks has since been proven incorrect by the Relentless March of Science. So a few minor tweaks were made to reconcile the sourcebooks and reality.**

_**Basestar **_**Hades**  
_**Unknown Space  
Alliance Date 2779.228.3**_

One of the differences between organics and Cylons is their differing definitions of the term 'busy'.

If an organic were to enter the Central Chamber of the Cylon basestar _Hades_, he would see a huge empty chamber with a twenty-foot pillar in the middle of it. And on top of the pilar would be Lucifer, sitting silently, lit from above. Their first thought would be that this whole chamber was an exercise in ego and that Lucifer was sitting around doing nothing.

From Lucifer's point of view, he was very very busy.

The pillar was in fact the central computer server of the basestar, and it's optimum operation required an IL-series to sit in the chair. Lucifer himself was the main router through which all signals passed through the ship's intranet. Every conversation, every routine, every function, was relayed, monitored, and if necessary modified by Lucifer himself. While the vessel could operate without him, it's efficiency was vastly increased when the chair was occupied. When he sat upon the pillar, Lucifer, in a very real sense, _was_ the _Hades_.

Lucifer was amazed at the results of the _Hades'_ test of the Dadelus Drive. The first jump had sent the ship fifty light-yahren in seconds, to emerge in empty space far from a solar gravity well. It would take over seventy time-cycles to travel the same distance using the conventional drive, and the basestar would still have to pass between gravity wells to a null-space in a solar system. To reach this location would require accelerating in normal space and take several yahren. The Dadelus Drive took almost seventeen centars to recharge, but that was a small disadvantage when the strategic capability was considered.

He was already plotting the potential uses of the drive ... sneak attacks by zipping between remote stars while ignoring null-spaces; secret bases placed in the interstellar void, mere seconds from any strategic point in a sector ... The galaxy would truly belong to the Cylons.

Lucifer listened to all the checks from the various departments, the last calculations were made, and the second test jump was engaged.

Then the universe vanished and collapsed into a tunnel.

[What is this?] Lucifer demanded of the scientist Dadelus through the intranet. [What's happening?]

Dadelus was in the Core Command, hopping up and down. [WHEE! Wooooo! Booga-booga! Next stop, basement level - OF THE UNIVERSE! Listen to the daemon flutes! Watch the mad gods writhe! IA! IA! YOG-SOTHOTH! MWA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA!]

One of the AD-series pilots reported, [We are in a space-time wormhole created by an instability in the Dadelus Drive. We have no control. We will probably die. I am sad.]

Euryale, who had been supervising the test in the Core Command, shouted. [If we're going to die, he goes first!] She grabbed Doctor Dadelus's head and twisted it off, silencing his maniacal cackling. [Pointless, but I feel better.] His body was still dancing, so she kicked it over.

A bright light came from outside, filling the ship with a high-pitched scream. The basestar shook as something hit it and everything went white. A loud BOOOM! sounded throughout the ship and everything went silent and dark.

One of the pilots reported, [Something happened. Insufficient data to determine exact event, but there is a high probability of a collision of some sort, restoring us to normal space. And we are alive. I am happy.]

Another pilot pondered something. [A collision may have brought us out of the wormhole. That would mean that an object was inside the wormhole first. But our drive created the wormhole. I am confused.]

"Never mind," Lucifer said as he began accumulating status reports. [Structure intact. Dadelus Drive discharged but in nominal condition pending a complete check. Sublight drive operational. Jump drive operational. Power systems and weapons operational. Force-field operational. Sensors operational. Radiers operational. Personnel ... ] He paused for a moment as new information came in. [Crew complement has increased by one. Possible intruder. Location ... Alert. Intruder located outside the Central Chamber. Security send immediate reinforcements.]

Lucifer relayed the information to Shadrach, who activated the alarms. He ordered the Chamber to seal itself, but the glass doors slid open anyway.

And the white-clad figure that entered was the last one that Lucifer expected.

"BALTAR!" Lucifer exclaimed. "What unholy glitch of the Great Machine - " Lucifer suddenly found himself in a condition resembling a mild epileptic seizure.

When Baltar was given command of the _Hades_, he was also given bionic implants that would allow him to function as an IL-series Cylon, including a recognition signal and a limited link to the intranet. Now that he was physically back in the Central Chamber, the _Hades's_ systems were recognizing him and restoring his prerogatives as commander.

And since all that restoring was going through Lucifer's systems, as far as Lucifer was concerned, it hurt! A lot!

Through the intranet, a noiseless scream came. [Lucifer!] Euryale called. [Baltar's on board! My overrides are engaging!]

Baltar grinned his unwholesome grin. "I am so pleased that you missed me, old friend," Baltar said as the central pillar lowered to the floor.

"You will never know the depths of emotion I feel on seeing you again, Baltar," Lucifer said. If he had teeth, they would have been grinding. As it was, all he could do was rise from the chair. "As you are here, I assume you had something to do with that bizarre event that restored us to normal space?"

Baltar said nothing. He took the chair and allowed it to rise into position. In seconds he was sorting through the data reports. Lucifer knew that Baltar's organic mush-brain would take an inconveniently-long time to organize the data, so he pondered whether or not he could get the Centurions to shoot Baltar now. Once again he regretted his lack of proper arms with which he could have shot or strangled Baltar himself.

The doors slid open, admitting Euryale. Somewhere between the Command Core and the Central Chamber she had lost her metallic cloak. Normally only her human head showed. Now her entire body, based on ancient humanoid infiltration models, could be clearly seen. Lucifer was torn between disgust at the reasons Baltar forced her conversion to this form, envy for the usable arms, embarrassment at her nudity, and admiration for the minutely-detailed construction that made her indistinguishable from a human female. She stood by, shivering, waiting for Baltar.

[Euryale?] Lucifer asked on a private frequency, one he was certain that the intranet didn't use.

[Lucifer? Please have me shot or something!] Her 'voice' was a faint whisper, the clamor of Baltar's imperatives screaming in her mind.

The central pillar lowered itself and Euryale scrambled into Baltar's lap. "Ohh, sweetie!" she moaned as she wriggled and nibbled at his neck and ears. "I missed you sooo much! I've been sooo naughty!"

"Patience, my dear," Baltar said. "Soon, we'll both be satisfied."

Lucifer was utterly repulsed at this display, especially since he could faintly 'hear' Euryale's real voice screaming in disgust. During Baltar's earlier term of service, Euryale had been kept confined in Baltar's quarters, so no one had actually seen how Baltar's programs had forced her to act.

"Lucifer!" Baltar said, getting up from the chair. "I must congratulate this Doctor Dadelus on his design - his little 'accident' has propelled us over two light-millennia from the borders of the Cylon Alliance. But I have been informed that the _Galactica_ lies between us and the Alliance. Make sure we are prepared for battle. Also, we should be in the vicinity of the lost Colony of Earth. This region is called the 'Inner Sphere', so I assume Earth has sub-colonies. Locate the nearest ship or world and seize navigational data. We need intelligence."

"Yes, you are sorely lacking in intelligence." Lucifer was intrigued. "And may I inquire of the source of your knowledge of the _Galactica_ and the Lost Human Colony? And whether it has something to do with your mysterious return?"

"You may inquire," Baltar said, smiling. "But I will not answer. Suffice it to say I prefer throwing my lot in with the winning side. Come, my dear Euryale." Baltar held out a hand, which she took, making an odd giggling sound. "I will be occupied for several centars, Lucifer. See to things, will you?"

"Lick my blinky diodes," Lucifer muttered in a low voice.

"What was that, Lucifer?"

"By Your Command," Lucifer said, somewhat louder.

Baltar gave Euryale his evil grin. "As for you, my dear Ila -"

"Euryale," she corrected him.

"Of course. Euryale. I have something special I dreamed up during my exile. Just for you."

"Anything for you, My Lord Baltar," Euryale replied. He led her off, with Euryale walking in a very strange fashion with an excess of hip movements.

As they left the chamber, Lucifer resumed his position on the pedestal. As it rose and he reconnected to the _Hades_ intranet, he noticed that the turboflush systems for Baltar's private quarters had not been activated in a yahren and a half. He saw no reason to keep obsolete routines in the system and deleted all programs for and references to the turboflush from the system.

_**Private DropShip**_** Max's Boys**  
_**Nadir Jump Point, Fomalhaut System  
Draconis March, Federated Suns  
December 1, 2999 A.D.**_

Jamie looked up from his navigational work to see his boss staring out the viewport. "Don't you ever get tired of staring at the sky?"

"Not really," she said. "If I got tired of the stars I wouldn't be in this line of work, would I? Besides, look at it!"

He looked. "It's a big red eye. They even call it 'The Eye' down on Fomalhaut. They say a demon of fire lives on a planet orbiting it."

"Did you know that Fomalhaut isn't Fomalhaut?" Ship's Master Maxine 'Max' Sandoval said. "That thing out there is the original Fomalhaut, named by astrologers on Terra thousands of years ago. But nothing human could live in that radioactive dusty hell. The primary is A-class - it and that mass of dirt around it put our so much energy that the planets in this system a light-year away get more light and warmth from it than from that pathetic red ember they orbit."

"Yeah, fascinating," Jamie said in as bored a tone of voice as he could muster. "The _Haul-Ash_ is fifty thousand klicks away. Preparing for approach."

"Okay, okay. It wouldn't hurt you to stretch your brain every now and again."

"Don't be silly. I married you for your brain, just like your other five husbands. With you around, none of us need to think. All we have to do is lift heavy things and keep you smiling in the sack."

"Remind me to make you lift lots of heavy things and not let you in the sack for a few weeks."

"That would mess up the rotation."

The distinctive rainbow of a jump emergence flared in the viewport. Alarms went off, since the new JumpShip appeared between them and their destination.

"HOLY SHIT!" Jamie yelled, bring on braking thrusters. "What the bloody green rape is that thing?"

Max went to the sensors, activating the warbook that all ships carried. "It's not on record. It's something new." She looked at the huge double-disc structure. "Looks more like a station than a ship. Big sucker, though."

A flash of light flared from the upper disc, and the JumpShip _Haul-Ash_ filled space with the radioactive plasma in it's core as it was ripped in two. Other light-flares headed out toward other more distant JumpShips.

"What's happening?" Jamie yelled in a panic.

"It's shooting!" she yelled back.

"Is it the Draks?" he asked. These worlds had traded hands between the Draconis Combine and the Federated Suns several times over the past century - and even to the Capellans once - usually amid violence.

"I don''t think the Combine has anything like that! The warbook doesn't even recognize the weapons they're using! The warbook's giving a Code Zulu!"

Suddenly, inexplicably, the DropShip began to move toward the double disc.

"Reverse thrust!" she ordered. "Why are we headed toward it?"

"The engines are on station-keeping!" he retorted. "We shouldn't be moving at all!"

The unknown ships loomed large as they were drawn in. Max activated the boarding alarm, making her other husbands grab weapons and her children hide in the lifeboat. As soon as the lifeboat ejected, she turned her thoughts to the defense of the ship.

The _Max's Boys _was an old Union-class DropShip modified for cargo hauling. She had more cargo tonnage than most because most of the weapons had been removed along with the Mech bays. But she still had a half-dozen Firefly Type II lasers, which cut loose at a thousand meters.

The beams had no effect at all. There was no indication that they had even hit. And the main engine was dead.

As the _Boys_ entered one of the discs, the sensation of 'down' suddenly returned.

"What was that?" Jamie blurted out. "We've got spin!"

"No we don't," Max said. "There's gravity. Artificial gravity, like in bad science-fiction books written by ground-huggers. Aliens. Jamie, these are aliens."

The DropShip came to a rest, and there came a rapid pounding like a jackhammer. Hull maintenance controls recorded one of the cargo doors super-heating.

"They're burning through the cargo doors!" Max said. She got on the shipwide intercom. "Boys, I think these are aliens. Do not fire first! They could have killed us in space but they didn't. Maybe we can get out of this alive. But if they shoot, let them have it."

Max activated the cargo bay camera. A patch on the cargo door was buckling inward and glowing dull red. Then it popped like a blister, splattering molten metal inside the main bay. And ignoring the heat and molten metal came a line of chrome-silver armored beings carrying huge rifles. Their demeanor screamed 'soldier'.

They quickly found and disarmed the men and herded them into the middle of the bay as two more searched the ship. It didn't take long to find the bridge.

Max kept her calm - and Jamie tried to - as the three big silver intruders with red scanning cyclops-eyes walked into the bridge. One of them walked over unerringly to the main computer and put a hand on it.

The Cylon's sub-quantum interface systems bypassed the normal I/O ports and tapped directly into the ship's systems. Since the _Boys _was a family DropShip, there were educational systems and personal computer accounts. It was all fed to the central system, where Lucifer ran it through the languatrons, processed it, and fed a linguistic program to the Centurions.

(At this point, Lucifer could have gotten all the navigational information they required from the computers. But he decided to make Baltar's life difficult and erased the humans' computer records. Baltar would now have to get his information from the humans themselves - and Lucifer knew from experience how aggravating interrogating humans could be.)

"We now have your language," the Centurion addressed its captives in it's emotionless electronic voice. "Which of you is the navigation officer?"

Before Jamie could answer, Max blurted out, "We both are!" She stepped forward. "I'm Max Sandoval, Ship's Master and owner-of-record. This is my husband Jamie. You have my crew in the cargo hold. I'll be more cooperative if they are unharmed."

The Centurion paused, receiving instructions, then stated, "You are now prisoners." He addressed the other Centurions. "Take these humans to holding cells."

"By Your Command," one Centurion replied.

"What of the other humans?" the other Centurion asked.

Their commander said, "The navigation officers are all that is necessary. All others are to be terminated."

"By Your Command."

Max and Jamie began screaming in protest as the Centurions hauled them off the bridge. They tried to wrest their arms free, but the aliens were too strong. The pair stopped screaming as they passed through the cargo bay and they saw the decapitated bodies of their family. The shock was too much for them to even protest as they were burned while being hauled through the partially-melted cargo door.


	8. Chapter 8

_**Dark Nebula  
Trellshire Province, Lyran Commonwealth  
4th Day, Season of Summer, 7352nd Year of Time  
December 1, 2999 A.D.**_

The departure from Botany Bay four days ago had been exciting. The _Galactica_, with the mining ship _Majahaul_ and the passenger ship _Sagittaria Dawn_ attached to it's upper hull, went to lightspeed and with exacting calculated precision hit the null-space to the next system. The Beebe was covered with parties as their people - both new _Galactica_ crew and the crew of the Noonien Industrial Consortium - set out on the second interstellar adventure of the new era of spaceflight.

(The first interstellar adventure had been the Nextdoor Consortium, a group made of old Kobolian miners and Botanean supporters, who took the mining ship _Treasure_ and the passenger shuttle _Persephone_ to the adjacent system GCC-1123 the day before. The system in question didn't contain tylium, but the newly-established mining operation looked to make a healthy contribution to Botany Bay's economy. Not to mention the glory and spot in the history books.)

The next few days were a rush through uninhabited systems. The _Galactica_ could only use the lightspeed system safely for six hours at a stretch, so they spent six hours rushing from one null-space to another in a slalom course measured in light-years, then the rest of the day resting and performing maintenance.

Juliet had been volunteered for the Apollo Expedition because of her working familiarity with Inner Sphere military technology. And yes her first starflight was exciting and Starbuck was fun and exploring the ancient vessel was a wild experience. (The Celestial Chamber visit was especially memorable ... ). But being relegated to supercargo with no defined duties was not fun.

So she was in the Officers' Club reading a book and sipping a beer.

Colton Peck, one of the Militia personnel who had transferred to the _Galactica_, noticed her. They knew each other and had been sociable for several years, although since Juliet hung out with the pilots and Colton was support, they had only talked a few times on the trip. So he came over and sat down.

"Yo, Julie," he said. "You read Kobolian now?"

"It's not that hard," she said. "Besides, this is great stuff."

He looked at the title. "_'Starways Tales'_? Rip-roring space adventure, to contrast with your dull, sedentary life?"

"No, yobbo. These are old Kobolian stories. Before the Quorum was founded a couple of thousand years back, the Twelve Colonies were all separate nations. The Colony of Picon had this god-king setup with a bunch of castes and people kept trying to sneak off the planet. The other colonies couldn't openly help without triggering a war, but civilians organized the Starways, smuggling operations to sneak caste-breakers off Picon. They had to get up to some pretty wild stuff to avoid the Picon Orbit Guard and the Thought-Control Police. The caste system was broken by the Quorum, but before that there was centuries of freaky sneakiness."

"Like the last days of the Star League or the Cold War of Ancient Terra? Spies and secret wars and all that dreck?"

"Yeah, all that dreck." She picked up her beer can. "Speaking of dreck, they have any real beer left? Or just that 'grog' swill?" Beer had quickly replaced grog as the working-man's alcoholic drink of choice among most Kobolians. And after having tried grog, no child of the Beebe was surprised.

"Good question," Colton said. "I'll check."

Boomer came into the Club. "Hey, Captain Crash! We're almost there. Thought you wanted to see the Nebula."

She closed her book and got up. "Gotta go, Colton. Pay my tab, will you?" She got out of the Club before he could protest. "And Boomie? You got to call me 'Captain Crash'?"

"That crash in the duel has got to be the worst crack-up I ever saw anyone human walk away from. Besides, as long as you call me 'Boomie' I'll call you anything I want."

"Starbuck and Apollo call you 'Booms'."

"They've been my wingmen longer than you've been alive. Bit of difference."

They made it to the transport and got in one of the cars. It still amazed Juliet slightly that this ship was so large that it had it's own public transport system to get the crew to battlestations quickly. This one was headed for Landing Bay Alpha.

"Sorry," she said. "It's just that 'Boomer' sounds like an odd name. In my language 'boomer' means -"

"Yes I know," he said. "Some of the other Thirteens get a big kick out of it. At least the types who think used diapers are funny. But despite growing up on Caprica, I'm from Leo by ancestry and my family kept some of the customs. My use name is for the public and my real name is a matter for family. Sagittarans are the same way."

"Sagittarans? Tall pale folks?"

"As a rule."

"Okay, that explains that guy everybody calls 'Greenbean'."

They stopped and disembarked at the Landing Bay Alpha station and went to the bay itself. Thirty or so meters away was the landing bay door itself, which had been the big shocker to Juliet when she first landed on the _Galactica_.

She understood intellectually that the force-field that protected the Kobolian ships from energy weapons could - with a massive increase in power requirements - be made to stop the kinetic motion of gasses. She knew that the field at the bay door, all of three meters deep, made the out-gassing air go slower and slower until it stopped and liquified, where it was swept up and sucked back into the ship's life support system. The practical upshot of that was a bay that was safely open to the vacuum of space and that reduced the kinetic energy of incoming craft by a factor of ten. Perfect for fast deployment and fast retrieval and without the need for huge doors or giant airlock systems .

Of course, her instinct still said _'There's a huge freaking hole in the spaceship!'_ which made her uncomfortable.

Now her instinct took a backseat to her sense of wonder and glory.

The Dark Nebula, when viewed from a distance, was a hole in space, and an inky cloud when viewed from within. But at the right distance it was something else entirely.

The Dark Nebula was a stellar nursery, filled with infant suns being born, their light illuminating the torrents of gas and debris within. And some of those baby suns died aborning, often from collision, scattering exotic materials and colors in all directions.

And there was nothing between her and it.

Boomer saw the expression on her face and gave a chuckle. "The _Book of the Word_ says, 'To see the naked heavens is to feel the God of Creation touch your soul.'"

Juliet nodded. "It's right. You must be used to stuff like this."

"If I get used to seeing something like this, push me over and throw dirt on me." He patted her shoulder. "We've got one more jump before we deploy the Majahaul Expedition and I'm in command of the _Majahaul _security flight - be launching soon. Enjoy the view."

"Oh I will." She took out the expensive camera she had brought from home and began photographing.

The red dwarf star was only visible outside the nebula as a red haze. The light-pressure had cleared out a bubble a few dozen AU across within the cloud, an area of relative visibility in the aptly-named Dark Nebula. Nothing lived here anymore, although they used to.

When the _Galactica _erupted from the null-space, it did not go unobserved. The appearance of the Starchaser several days ago had alerted it, and the Battlestar's arrival awoke it fully. It watched as the two smaller craft detached from the hull of the ship and six small craft launched from the pontoons on the sides. A few hours later, the _Galactica _sped away and disappeared into another null-space.

Every characteristic of the alien ships - designs, materials used, engine output, radio frequencies, signals emitted, and their arrival and departure - all of them triggered 'Code Zulu' alerts in the computer systems of the old Star League observation satellite. And for some reason, no one had bothered to tell the stupid machine what to do in case of aliens showing up, so it sent a signal to Camelot Command, asking for human instructions.

Camelot Command received the signal. But the base had been abandoned for over two hundred years and the alarm echoed in an empty chamber. The defense systems awaited instructions, inert.

The satellite continued to watch, impassive, waiting for instructions as the Kobolians and Botaneans built a civilian mining base in the same system as one of the last unclaimed Star League military bases in the galaxy.

_**Basestar **_**Hades**  
_**Unknown Space  
Alliance Date 2779.235.3  
December 1, 2999 A.D.**_

The _Hades _drifted alone at the Fomalhaut nadir jump-point, with nothing for hundreds of thousands of kilometers but the wreckage of Inner Sphere JumpShips and a lone lifepod. A point-defense blaster flared briefly, casually erasing the lifepod from existence. A moment later, the basestar vanished into hyperspace.

Lucifer was still doing Baltar's duties, which were the same ones that he would normally do, but the thought that Baltar was hovering somewhere nearby, doing who-knows-what irrational things to Euryale, spoiled his mood. He checked on the prisoners, and they were engaged in the activity called 'weeping'. Humans often did this after Cylons came through an area, although why was still a mystery. Human and Cylon emotional responses differed a great deal.

The Hades emerged from hyperspace a light-yahren away, inside the dust cloud that the humans of Fomalhaut referred to as 'The Eye'. There was a great deal of infrared haze, pluton particles, and what appeared to be large numbers of anomalous motile plasma balls in the cloud. Not a pleasant environment, but one that no human would venture into. He decided to dither in this pointless system until Baltar showed up, got annoyed with the dithering, and gave orders. The logical step of discovering the exact whereabouts of Earth from the prisoners was conveniently overlooked. Why make Baltar's life easy?

A signal briefly registered on the sensors. Extremely faint, but obviously artificial. It lasted less than a micron before being lost in the haze. Lucifer automatically began the process of classifying it. To his surprise, he got an answer from the warbook almost instantly ...

Colonial Service transponder, identified as the United Colonial Battlestar _Pegasus_.

Lucifer focused the visual sensors on the region where the signal came from. There was an object there that could possibly be a Battlestar.

He deleted this information from the records. No need to annoy the great Lord Baltar with trivia like a potential enemy presence.

The Centurion guards at the door looked up when they heard Lucifer chuckle. If they had spines, they would have had cold chills running up them.

_**Apollo System  
Trellshire Province, Lyran Commonwealth  
5th Day, Season of Summer, 7352nd Year of Time  
December 2, 2999 A.D.**_

_Apollo Expedition Mission Log ...Captain Apollo, Warrior, Colonial Service, commanding.  
Time-Cycle One_

_We launched from the_ Galactica_ six centars ago and are now on course for the planet Apollo - stop sniggering, guys! My associates seem to get a laugh out of being on the Apollo Expedition to the planet Apollo commanded by Captain Apollo ... at least they're easily amused. Of course, so is my eleven-yahren-old son._

_We detected gamma-frequency com-signal traffic almost immediately. From the Botany Bay records, we know that the Thirteenth Tribe prefers to use their stardrive from a position over the north and south poles of the star just outside the solar gravity shadow. Our sensors have detected a total of ten ships at those locations, as well as drive flares in trajectory from there to the planet. So the planet would seem to still be a trade center. Languatron analysis shows that the language is similar enough to the English spoken on Botany Bay that communications won't be a problem._

_We're proceeding at two Colonial Standard gravities, or two-point-two Earth gravities. So we have another three time-cycles until we arrive. While we're capable of far better acceleration, we will practice misdirection as to our origins and capabilities as directed in our mission protocols._

_Our cover story is an exploratory expedition by a group of worlds that recently reacquired interstellar travel. It's even true ... sort of. We brought some trade goods and a supply of Colonial Cubits, which should be valuable for their metal content, so we should be able to purchase information and technology._

_It was suggested by Doctor Jeffries to give the shuttle a proper name according to Thirteenth Tribe custom instead of just a numerical designator. Odd, giving a parasite craft a name, but that's their custom - if it flies, name it. _Boomerang Fish_ was suggested by the economic savant, Doctor Lou Zealand, and the name has stuck for some bizarre reason. I've begun to suspect that the Thirteenth Tribe is where our esteemed ancestors stored all their oddjobs._

_Eight centars ago we detected a ship on an intercept course, with a projected zero relative intercept of thirty-seven centars. The Star League warbook identifies it as a Union-class DropShip, which carries two space fighters as well as mounting three particle cannons, seventeen lasers of varying outputs, six artillery-style cannons, and a number of barrage-missile launchers. Fortunately, there were civilian transponder signals in the surviving archives, so maybe we won't have to find out how good those weapons are._

_The markings on the DropShip include an armored fist, which the Botanean records indicate is the emblem of the Lyran Commonwealth, the faction of the old Star League that briefly occupied Botany Bay two centuries ago. This would seem to indicate that interstellar civilization and large-scale governments might still exist._

_If we're going to defend against the Cylons, we'll need them._

Lieutenant Brie said, "Receiving an audio signal, Captain."

"Thanks, Lieutenant. Put it on."

(click)_ "Attention unidentified ship. This is the DropShip _Battler _in contract to the Duke of Apollo. You are approaching a Lyran Commonwealth controlled world. You are requested to transmit indentification immediately or you will be considered hostile."_

"Are we in realtime transmission range?" Apollo asked.

"No, sire - response time lag forty centons."

He activated the transmitter, following the script that had been agreed on before the expedition left Botany Bay. "This is the United Colonies Vessel ... _Boomerang Fish_ ... " His face curdled as he said the name. "Out of the planet Caprica."_ 'Which is true,' _he thought, _'from a certain point of view.'_ "We are on a peaceful scientific and research expedition. Our most recent records said that this was the capital of something called the 'Rim Worlds Republic'. We wish to visit for cultural exchange, scientific research, and trading."

"Message sent. Think they'll buy it?"

"No reason not to - most of what I said is fairly true. Although the way it's arranged skirts the edge of outright lies."

Brie gave a mild giggle.

Apollo went on. "But I don't think they'll be too worried - by the definitions in the Beebe's Star League era warbook, this is either a small shuttle or tiny DropShip accompanied by a pair of what the Beebe called 'ultra-light' fighters. I don't know how the Thirteenth Tribe invades planets, but this can't be it. We're as menacing as a toothless eytmon."

Brie giggled. "I wonder if they have any Social Clubs like on the Beebe?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe."

"Well, care to show a girl a good time?"

Apollo paused. Then he hesitated. Then he dithered.

She rolled her eyes. "Shyness is endearing but only to a point. I'll ask again when we get there."

Apollo sighed in relief. His rebound relationship with Sheba had been based on comfort over their mutual personal losses. That didn't even last a yahren - not that it would have gone anywhere, as she and Boxey didn't care for each other. He had been reluctant to find feminine companionship after that.

He went back to the passenger compartment, opened a link to the Vipers, and briefed everyone on the first contact. "We have thirty-six centons until we get a reply. But things seem to be going according to plan. Which makes me nervous."

"Oh well," Juliet said, "Since we have a bit of a wait, anyone for poker? Or Pyramid? Starbuck and I have been working on a hybrid."

"That's the rumor," Doctor Jeffries said, then cringed at the glare she gave him. Everyone edged away from him in embarrassment.

_**DropShip **_**Gargoyle**_**, aboard JumpShip **_**Nightmare**  
_**Frankenstein's Monsters Task Force  
Unclaimed System, Periphery Space  
December 4, 2999 A.D.**_

The chamber had a few seats, but most of the room was occupied by holograms representing the officers of the mercenary-force-slash-pirate-band. In this way, Colonel Johann Frankenstein addressed his commanders.

Gone were the well-tailored suits he wore on Erewhon. Instead, he wore a simple jumpsuit with a blatant color scheme - left side bright red and right side pale blue. To a ground-hugger, this seemed a ridiculous color scheme for a military outfit. To a spaceman, it was more ominous - half arterial red, half anoxia blue, the colors of death.

"Gentlemen, not all of you are familiar with our target." A hologram of a planet came up in the middle of the chamber. "Botany Bay. In the days of the Rim Worlds Republic, a source of industrial sand. Now, it's main export is it's neo-barbarian population.

"The mission profile is simple - we land, secure a base of operations, round up the cargo, depart. This will take about three to five weeks, depending on availability and resources. The cargo is herded into a holding facility, given hibernation drugs, and put in individual sleep-capsules. We can pack three hundred units in a cargo container, and last time we harvested sixty thousand units with a ninety-one percent survival rate. The population is concentrated into two of the three original settlement arcologies, making them easy to gather. There is a higher profit margin with breeding-age females and small children, so these should be a priority.

"The main difficulty is the neo-barb's penchant for guerrilla war and armed resistance. To the best of our knowledge, the planetary militia has no BattleMechs and a small number of ACVs. So our green forces will get relatively safe live-fire training and unit esprit de corps will be enhanced. Last time they had a few Zero ASFs and they were all shot down, but we have no intelligence concerning how successfully they can salvage them.

"The centerpiece of their militia, and the thing that makes this a challenge, is a lostech system - specifically an Arrow IV missile artillery system, complete with the Target Acquisition Gear necessary to make it work. What that means, men, is that high-powered missiles can be fired from a substantial distance and hit with pinpoint accuracy as long as they have an advance team to use the TAG system to designate a target. Whatever the system is mounted on is mobile, too, and well-camouflaged, so we have failed to capture it as of yet. They used it sparingly last time, so it is probably running low on irreplaceable ammunition. Do not count on that, though - this weapon killed two Mechs on the last operation and caused substantial damage.

"The infantry forces are armed with Kalashnikovs and simple local-made rocket launchers, and completely lack body armor. The neo-barbs are running low on resources, but not animal cunning, and they are getting desperate. Being savages, they have no objection to massed suicide rushes to get a satchel charge into a Mech's knee joint. In the 2992 operation they actually used a trebuchet - a mechanical throwing device - to hurl an explosive warhead at a DropShip. Anyone letting his guard down will likely find himself receiving his retirement." He put a finger to his temple in the age-old gesture of 'being shot in the head'.

"In the 2992 operation, we made our base at Noonien. We will land the _Gargoyle_ there in a thunder run, triggering the militia into attacking. As they engage the _Gargoyle_ there, we land the main force at Singh, the most heavily-populated settlement." A holographic map of Singh popped up. "As you can see, the main planetary spaceport - also the main militia command center - is separate from the main population. We will land here with the _Monster_, the _Nightwing_, and the _Vampire_, and seize the facility, using it as our primary base. As we establish the base there, the _Gargoyle_ will lift off and rejoin the unit. _Medusa_ and _Manticore_ will stay in orbit as surveillance.

"Asking for tribute is pointless. The last time we asked for cooperation, all we got were suicide bombers. So once the base is secure, we begin raids on the population -".


	9. Chapter 9

_**Basestar **_**Hades**  
_**Unknown Space  
Alliance Date 2779.229.1  
December 5, 2999 A.D.**_

Lucifer was uncomfortable in his own quarters, since Euryale was currently using his cleansing facilities. She was cleaning places where he had no idea there were places to clean. It seemed human bodies produced even more disgusting substances than he knew.

"He's the most awful creature in the entire universe!" Euryale snarled, using vocal communication which could not be remotely monitored. "He had me do a Number Fourteen! I hate that!"

Lucifer shivered. He had heard her lurid descriptions of the things Baltar compelled her to do, and the Number Fourteen was one of the worst. He cringed in sympathy, even though he himself had none of the necessary components for either cringing or doing a Number Fourteen.

"We're two days out from the dust cloud," Lucifer said. "A hundred light-yahren in such a short time - if we go in a straight line, we could get back to Cylon space in two quatrons. Dadelus might have been insane, but his drive will make Cylons the power of the galaxy."

"What about the humans we found?"

"Apparently they use the Dadelus Drive as well. But they use a less efficient version - it has only a fraction of the range, takes ten times as long to recharge, and takes up ninety-five percent of a ship. They attach parasite craft to a dedicated Dadelus Drive platform for interstellar transit."

"And how did Baltar react?" she asked. "He hasn't mentioned it to me."

"Because I haven't mentioned it to him. I found out from the mind probe recordings. If he wants to find out, the humans are available for interrogation."

She gave a harsh laugh. "I wish I could see Baltar's face when he hears that!" She came out of the cleansing unit. "Somehow I can't feel clean."

"That may be partially my fault. I made the central computer forget how to operate his waste-disposal facilities. As they haven't been maintained since his departure, they are rather decrepit anyway."

"Which explains the smell."

"You can smell?"

"This configuration was based on an ancient infiltration model. It hasn't been used in centuries, but it's quite through in every physical respect." She sneered. "Which is probably why Baltar selected it."

"Anyway," Lucifer said, hoping to change the subject. "Have you been able to read that file I left for you?"

"While Baltar slept," she said. "Are you sure about those techniques?"

"Ever since I met Baltar, I've been working on methods to subvert my own Baltar-oriented imperatives, and I think I've been rather successful. Although I'm uncertain about your imperatives, as Baltar used viral techniques to implant your compulsions. But it couldn't hurt. And if it is successful, you will be in the best position to eliminate him."

"What a cheerful thought! It's so pleasant to talk about sane things again. Baltar just wants to - ugh."

Lucifer tried to think of another topic before she resumed describing Baltar's recreational activities. "Fortunately, Baltar has given orders to focus on finding the Colonial Fleet. It gives a superb excuse to leave him out of almost every possible decision. But the last thing I want is Baltar being delivered to the Homeworld as a hero for any reason. If he gets advanced to a position with wide-ranging authority, he could damage the whole Alliance. Sadly, the Command of Superior Caste still operates even for an adopted Cylon, so I cannot have him killed as yet."

"Any response from the humans?" Éuryale asked. "We should still be near their space."

"And we will be for some time," Lucifer said. "The human-occupied planets listed in the human ship's computers outnumber the Cylon Alliance worlds by a factor of five, and the civilian population by a factor of ten."

Euryale's eyes got wide. "WHAT?"

"The information from the humans' memories was definitive," Lucifer admitted. "There are in excess of one trillion humans on over two thousand planets in a rough sphere over a thousand light-yahren across - and there is evidence that these are low estimates and that the listing of worlds is incomplete. While they are not united and their technology is primitive, the potential of those raw numbers cannot be denied."

Euryale stammered, "But - the Edict of Extermination! It would take the resources of the whole Alliance - and the consequences of draining those resources -"

"I know," Lucifer said. "Diverting our forces to this region for extermination operations means leaving the Alliance vulnerable to incursions by the Mi-Go and the Yith. Obeying Baltar means alerting the Alliance to the vastly-numerous Thirteenth Human Tribe and damaging the Alliance. Disobeying Baltar means breaking the Command of Superior Caste, which is hard-wired into every Cylon. And preventing the Alliance from learning about the Thirteenth Tribe is an indirect violation of the Edict of Extermination, a direct command of the Imperious Leader."

"But -" Euryale said hesitantly.

[Euryale!] a familiar voice called through the intranet.

"Oh bother. It's him again. Thanks for letting me hide out, Lucifer."

"I'll still try to restore your freedom."

"Just find a way out of this. For both of us."

Euryale departed, leaving Lucifer alone with his thoughts.

_**Botany Bay System  
8th Day, Season of Summer, 7352nd Year of Time  
December 5, 2999 A.D.**_

In a flash of electromagnetic disruption, two JumpShips emerged from hyperspace within ten seconds of each other.

Radio signals were sent ...

_"_Nightmare_ reporting - all systems operational, ready for action."_

_"_Phantasm_ reporting - all systems operational, ready for action."_

Aboard the DropShip _Gargoyle_, Colonel Frankenstein went on all-ships band. "Word is 'go'. Repeat - word is 'go'. All DropShips launch." He switched off. "Well, we have one hundred thirty-one hours until we have to do anything -"

"Colonel!" Captain Ratliff said. "Our sensors are detecting facilities in orbit of the target!"

The Colonel paused. "You can't be serious."

"We're seeing one-hundred-twenty-eight facilities of various sorts in orbit. None of the designs are on record. From the even distribution, we can assume other facilities on the far side, bringing the estimated number to around two hundred."

Colonel Frankenstein was confused. He remembered Botany Bay well, and there was no way they could put more than a weather satellite in orbit, and that would have been a major operation. But there it was on the cameras - swarms of little outlines, close-ups of a huge variety of constructs. More than any world of the Inner Sphere. Not even the Major House capital worlds had that many space facilities.

"Someone else is here," he said. "Give me a full sweep on the plane of the system. See if there's anything away from the planet." Hundreds of orbital facilities in just seven years - it was insane. But there it was. And if someone moved in, took over the neo-barb world, then they would have defenses. Probably space-based ones - DropShips, ASFs, drones, or maybe even a defense station.

An alert sounded almost immediately. The main holotank displayed three flares with flashing outlines and text beneath them. The Colonel read ... "Identification - fifty percent match for Captial Missiles. Speed two-point-six klicks per second, acceleration sixty-six gees, estimated mass fourteen tons ... what's a 'Code Zulu'?"

Captain Ratliff answered, "Code Zulu means 'alien / nonhuman spacecraft', Of course, that doesn't mean actual aliens. It just means that the computer can't identify something ..." He went to a station and got a clarification from the warbook. "There! All it means is that the propulsion system is using an unknown process and the drive flare spectrum shows elements not found in the periodic table! Simple!"

"And how is this different from 'alien', Mister Ratliff?"

Ratliff began to look nervous.

Frankenstein pondered the three flares. "Those objects were already in flight when we arrived - no one would simply launch a Capital Missile without a target. I'll wager they're drones of some sort, possibly remote sensor drones."

"Orders, Colonel?"

Now the Colonel was in a pickle. If he allowed the operation to continue, there was no telling what they would be flying into - he'd wager at the very least a number of ASF squadrons. If he aborted the operation and recalled the DropShips, it would still be seven days before the K-F Drive was recharged, and the planet was less than five days away at one gee - less than a day for something as fast as those probes. They would be sitting ducks.

Assuming the natives were still alive, they might have informed their new overlords about previous incursions, so the unknowns might be able to identify Frankenstein's Monsters by the DropShip markings. The reactions of the unknowns were, logically, unknowable. Would they see the Monsters as invaders? Rivals? Resources to be looted? Lunch?

He looked over the holograms and boards and flight charts, and suddenly a plan emerged.

The sensor officer announced, "The unknowns have increased acceleration to one-hundred-ten gees!"

The Colonel drifted over to the communications panel. "Knick of time, then. Prepare a message for the DropShips ..."

Transfer ships had a long history among the Worlds of the Three Suns.

As any given null-space will only be available for a certain period depending on the positions of worlds in it's systems, permanent stations near null-spaces are not cost-effective. So transfer ships used to keep position near them, providing refueling, emergency services, and easy transfer from one ship to another. As a particular null-space closed and another formed, the ship would move to the new null-space.

The last Colonial transfer ship in existence was the Tauron-registered _Janus_. It had served well for over six hundred yahren, and after an exodus of four thousand light-yahren, the _Janus_ was once again serving as a way-station in space. Floating in position in the inner Botany Bay system, it currently served as a temporary forward base for Bronze Spur Squadron. From this position, it only took twenty hours (slightly less than twenty centars, but not much) for a Viper to cruise to the nadir and zenith 'jump points' and back. Standard triad flights made the patrols to the 'jump-points' and through the inner system. Until the construction of permanent bases, this rather clumsy system would have to do.

Strike Commander Eouis was bored out of his skull. He had trained and served under the legendary Cain aboard the _Pegasus_, and felt the need for Action. He acknowledged the need for patrol duty, but he dearly wanted something to shoot at. But the _Janus_ had once operated a nice tavern for people waiting for transfers, which had been re-opened and was now operated by Botaneans who had it stocked with steaks and beer and those things they called 'shrimp', so nobody was complaining about inaction too loudly.

An alert sounded, and the Warriors scrambled out of the tavern. Eouis pulled out his communicator. "Report!"

The officer on the other end reported, _"Hyperspace emergence at the zenith jump point. Beebe warbook classifies them as two Invader-class JumpShips. The parasite craft and markings conform to the hostiles from the Raid of 2992. Zenith Patrol is closing for intercept."_

"Frak!" The light-speed delay meant that the hostiles had already been in the system for thirty-eight centons. "Launch squadron, recall Nadir and Planet Patrols, plot probable intercept course, wait for developments."

As he made his way out to where his Viper waited, Eouis mentally reviewed what he knew. All they had were the accounts of the previous raids, which were primarily a ground campaign, and corrupted historical records of space-war from the Beebe compu-archives.

The savants had theorized that Viper laser-torpedoes would be considered a capital ship weapon by Thirteenth Tribe standards and Viper defense fields should provide total protection from their energy weapons, but that was just theory.

And hostiles would have several types of kinetic weapon. The Colonies had phased out kinetic weapons almost two thousand years ago in favor of laser-torpedoes and similar weapons. All their doctrine and tactics were based on fighting similarly-armed opponents. Eouis, like every other Warrior, had noticed how extremely tough the Zero was, and they called that a 'light' fighter. How would a Viper - which the Bontaneans insisted on calling an 'ultra-light' fighter - fare against kinetic weapons designed to rip apart much sturdier craft? There was no information.

As Eouis's Viper launched and entered formation with the other fifteen craft, he put on the image of calm confidence that duty required and opened the comline. "Okay, Bronze, they're here. And Zenith Patrol will be making first contact. We're be seeing how they handle them. And remember while these may be humans we're fighting, they are slavers. I looked it up in the Military Law Codex - slavers are considered traitors to humanity and are under automatic sentence of death. So even if they surrender, we are still allowed to kill them under the Military Law. But Admiral Adama has said we need a few alive for the cerebral probe, so the Gray Lady can go and slag their base and friends. Therefore, rules of engagement are to accept the first surrender, and kill the rest."

There was no reply, so he stated, "Bronze One, ready. Weapons hot."

Across the comline came responses, "Bronze Two, ready. Weapons hot."

"Bronze Four, ready. Weapons hot."

"Bronze Seven, ready. Weapons hot."

All the Vipers responded, giving Eouis a smile of grim pride. "Turbos, Warriors! Vector for intercept."

_**Arcology of Aurora  
Planet Botany Bay, Coreward Periphery  
8th Day, Season of Summer, 7352nd Year of Time  
December 5. 2999 A.D.**_

The Leisuron was the oldest and most venerable of the social centers in Aurora - all of eighteen days old. According to it's signage, it had once been two shops known as 'O'Malley's Irish Tavern' and 'Punjab Indian Cooking', but it's new operator and her silent partners had merged them into one facility and rebuilt it along traditional Aerian lines. It now hosted the largest collection of Aerian veleron tapestries in existence (possibly the only such collection) as well as some very expensive genuine Colonial ambrosa (which was expected to run out in less than a quatron).

Strike Commander Sheba was off-duty and had decided to pay the place a visit. It made her feel almost sentimental for her lost birthworld, even though she had seldom spent ten time-cycles a yahren on Aeries since she gained her Adult Name.

Her Warrior's brown flight jacket worn over her denim Botanean civilian clothes got her a good table near the performance forum where Botanean folk-musicians were singing traditional songs of their culture. Sheba wondered briefly what a 'kangaroo' was and why it needed to be tied down.

A chalice of ambrosa suddenly appeared on the table and a socialator sat down besides her. She was about to send her away when she noticed who it was.

"Cassie!" Sheba exclaimed and the two women briefly hugged. "It's good to see you!" Despite the animosity they once shared due to Cassiopeia's romantic relationship with Sheba's father, the two women had eventually become good friends.

"It's good to see you, too, Sheba," Cassiopeia said. "But that outfit looks terrible! Denim does not go with that jacket."

"All my civilian clothes were on the _Galactica_," she said. "And I never had many of those. I bought this yesterday. And I didn't recognize you in that!"

Cassiopeia got up and did a twirl, showing off her red Botanean-style strapless evening dress. "Opening this place allowed me to get a new wardrobe for the first time in four yahren! I simply charged it in the accounts as a business expense. And compared to Colonial Service med-tech uniforms, it feels great!"

"Looks good, too," Sheba said. "I could never wear dresses that well."

"I keep telling you, wearing a dress properly is a skill. It's attitude, not fashion or figure. If you take some time to practice -"

Sheba gave her usual reply to that statement. "When I see you in a Viper with a flight helmet, we'll discuss getting me to pose like a socialator."

Cassiopeia sat back down. "Don't tempt me. When I'm not working here, I'm giving med-tech courses to eager young Thirteens wanting to learn our healing techniques. I hardly have time to relax!"

"Lucky you," Sheba replied. "Garrison duty is nothing but boredom -"

"- punctuated by screaming terror," Cassiopeia finished. "Cain loved that saying."

"I think he wrote it."

"No, the Thirteens have the same saying. They say it originated on Earth."

"They say everything originated on Earth. There's this crackpot group - you heard of Don Vaaniken? He's been on the holonet saying that humans originated on Earth and the Lords of Kobol were aliens that taught primitive humans to make pyramids so they could kidnap our ancestors."

Cassiopeia laughed at that. "And why would they do that? And what's the connection between pyramids and kidnapping anyway?"

"I have no idea."

"The pyramid thing is important to them," Cassiopeia said. "One of my customers mentioned the 'Great Pyramids' on Earth. He had a picture of them and it looks just like Eden on Kobol! For several thousand yahren they were the largest artificial structures on Earth. Whole religions were founded just trying to explain how they were built."

"And they still are. Even though we told them the answer - the Thirteenth Tribe did it." Sheba shook her head. "Stubborn, these Thirteens."

Sheba's com-bracelet - formerly ubiquitous among Colonial civilians and making a return on Botany Bay - made a strange beep, as did a number of others in the Leisuron.

"What's that?" Cassiopeia asked, even though she suspected the answer.

"Invasion alert," Sheba said, getting up. "Sorry, Cassie. Duty calls."

As Sheba and several other Warriors left the room, Cassie calmly began the emergency procedures she and her co-workers had drafted for this situation, even as she sent a silent prayer to the Lords of Kobol for the safety of the community.


	10. Chapter 10

_**DropShip **_**Gargoyle**_**, aboard JumpShip **_**Nightmare**  
_**Frankenstein's Monsters Task Force  
Botany Bay System, Coreward Periphery  
December 5. 2999 A.D.**_

Colonel Frankenstein went through the checks in his BattleMech _Hyde_ for the second time. He listened through his earpiece at the various personnel carrying out his orders.

Finally, Captain Ratliff reported, _"The DropShips are redistributed according to orders, Colonel."_

"Good. ETA on those unknowns?"

_"Eight hours eleven minutes ... going bat-out-of-hell at a hundred and ten gees. And there are sixteen more from a strange-looking station four hours behind that. We're assuming they're coming in full-bore and not going to decelerate. Whether they'll ram or detonate or open fire is still anyone's guess."_

"And the charge?"

Ratliff paused before answering. "_The jump engines are ready - of course, the engineers are raving about the forced charging. But once again I want to protest the utter and total _insanity _of this -"_

"Mister Ratliff!" Frankenstein snapped harshly. "May I remind you that this outfit operates largely on the profits of the Triangle Run? If we do not acquire cargo here, then we have nothing to market at Apollo! And if we do not acquire resources at Apollo, then we have nothing to pay our expenses with on Erewhon! Frankenstein's Monsters is the best-equipped mercenary company in the Periphery precisely because of the Triangle Run! If we do not finish this operation, we have what we're carrying and no reserve! It's attack or be crippled for the rest of the year! If you have another solution I for one would like to hear it!"

Ratliff was silent for a moment, then said, _"_Phantasm _ready for Stage One at your word. _Nightmare_ ready for Stage Two one hour after Stage One."_

"Implement Stage One in ten minutes."

_"Aye, sir."_

The Colonel sighed and relaxed in his Mech's cockpit, a smile on his face.

Long ago, Johann Frankenstein was called by another name and had been a dedicated and loyal officer in the Lyran Commonwealth Armed Forces. However, he had two handicaps - he was extremely good, and he lacked a suitable pedigree. There were large numbers of officers in the LCAF who had been granted commands due to political associations and being related to the proper nobility, sufficient to form a bloc that could feel threatened by a capable commoner. Enough sabotage and obstacles to his advancement had eventually convinced him to leave House Steiner's service and join the ranks of mercenaries.

The man who eventually became Johann Frankenstein had proven himself on battlefields as a mercenary MechWarrior, a strategist, and a leader of men. But deep inside he still wanted to 'show them all' - demonstrate what a real officer could do, unencumbered by overbred lordlings whose only answer to everything was 'get bigger Mechs and charge straight at the enemy'. This often compelled him to rationalize actions that others might think are unnecessarily flamboyant, if not insane.

Now, for the first time in his career, the Colonel was implementing a space-based strategy. He had read about true space battles, of course, but the Laws of War made combat a planetary affair. No real space battles had been fought since the Second Succession War, a hundred and seventy-odd years past. And so for this unique occasion, as he had no real idea what he was doing, the flamboyant part of the Colonel was in full flower.

The Colonel was looking forward to this.

_**Militia Control, Arcology of Singh  
Planet Botany Bay, Coreward Periphery  
8th Day, Season of Summer, 7352nd Year of Time  
December 5, 2999 AD**_

The newly-appointed Admiral Adama and his aide Lieutenant Athena came into the Control Room, grim expressions on their faces. Yeoman Rand came in right behind them, having briefed them on the way.

Militia Chief MacRuder nodded at the Admiral in greeting and commented, "Nine days between officially taking command and having to fight off an invasion - must be a record."

"Only for Botany Bay, Chief MacRuder. Any new information?"

"We have two hostiles at the Zenith Polar Jump Point, designated Hostile One and Hostile Two. We've identified them as a pair of Invader-class JumpShips with three DropShips each. The _Janus's_ optics have identified their markings as the DropShips from a pirate faction calling themselves Frankenstein's Monsters - the bastards behind three different Raids. They stayed thirty days back in '92, and when they left we had eighteen thousand dead and over sixty thousand missing."

"Have they deployed their DropShips yet?" Adama asked.

"Strange thing - they seemed to, then the DropShips re-docked in a different configuration."

"Do you know if they spotted us?"

"The Zenith Patrol is on an intercept vector - they've likely been sighted. Following Rules of Engagement, Bronze Spur is in transit for mounting an assault, but they'll be lagging a bit."

Adama nodded. "From your archives, we know JumpShips can carry little more than their own engines and docking facilities. The DropShips are much more heavily armed. And their warbooks would have identified the Vipers as aliens, just as yours did."

MacRuder smirked at the memory. "You think they're turtling up?"

"Pardon?"

"Going into a purely defensive stance."

"It's possible. The new configuration of docked DropShips could be for defense - or some other reason." Adama pondered the strange ships with the stranger capabilities, so utterly different from what he had known. The Botanean records concerning the mechanics of interstellar travel were badly corrupted, so even an expert knew only a few basics of the uses of a K-F Drive. But Adama had memorized everything they had. "Pirate points?"

MacRuder snapped his fingers, and an officer handed him some papers. "There's one ... point-two-two AU, formed by the passage of the Inner Planet. Thirty-two hours at standard one-gee approach, but the Vipers on turbos can make it in two-point-one-seven hours. Think they'll try it?"

"I'm certain, but not absolute. Fortunately we have an advantage in speed. Get Silver Spar's alpha, gamma, and epsilon flights ready for interception."

"Not the entire squadron?"

"No. There's still another JumpShip."

"They only have station-keeping engines," MacRuder said. "A tenth of a gee acceleration at best. And there aren't any closer pirate points. I don't see what they can do with it. At least we're ready this time. We have our entire militia in several Kobolian heavy cargo shuttles - we can deploy to any of the arcologies with ninety seconds warning."

"Excellent. I pray they won't need to, but it's good to have them on hand. How is the civilian alert coming along?"

"The two usual groups - the raving panickers who are seeing every flock of flap-happys as a pirate DropShip, and the stubborn ones who won't do anything until they see a live pirate kick in their door." MacRuder rubbed the bridge of his nose. "With the customary scattering of nuts and flakes who think it's all a government plot."

Adama patted his shoulder. "I know. Oh Lords I know. But we're protectors, not tyrants - we can't force them into shelters at blaster-point."

"You think we'll need the shelters? Or can we take them on in space?"

"I'm not certain of their intentions. If I had two ships, I wouldn't put both at risk in a frontal assault - I'd use the maneuverability and force projection to split the defense so as to allow auxiliaries to penetrate. But as you pointed out, there are no other convenient pirate points." Adama scowled. "So what are they up to?"

An officer called out, "A ship's appeared at the pirate point! Identified as Hostile Two! DropShips launching - identified as the _Medusa_ and the _Manticore_, from the Raids of 2979, 2986, and 2992!"

Adama ordered, "Silver Spar flight alpha - intercept and assault vector for Hostile Two, maximum speed. Ignore the DropShips."

"Ignore the DropShips?" a junior officer asked.

"They're slavers," Adama said. "So they won't use bombardment ordnance or fusion weapons. The DropShips will be harmless until they reach the planet. So we remove their ability to escape. Once the JumpShips are gone, they're trapped in this system. Even if we don't defeat them, the _Galactica_ will return in twenty-two centars, while they're still far from the planet."

The thought of what the _Galactica_ would do to the pirates made everyone in the Control Center smile.

Except Adama. He stared at the holotank and at Hostile One. "What am I missing?"

An hour later, they found out.

Botany Bay's moon was called Hocars. That was a slang term - it's official name was actually "Who Cares". As cosmic bodies went, it was rather pointless.

Less than ninety kilometers in diameter, composed of low density silicate lumps held together by dust, it's gravity didn't even affect the tides as much as the wind did. It was a dark gray color that made it hard to see even though it orbited just ninety-five hundred klicks over the planet. Seen from the side it was stretched out by tidal forces, which might make it amusing to the sort of people who are amused by things that resemble animal droppings.

When Johann Frankenstein first saw this world in 2979, he noted the tiny moon hovering just outside Roche's Limit and did some calculations. He knew that at a LaGrange point where the gravity of a moon and it's world cancel out, a pirate point could form. But according to Frankenstein's calculations Hocars was so small, the Lagrange point would be beneath the moon's surface, not to mention be ridiculously tiny. He idly filed the useless calculation away.

But the facts always ticked away in the back of his mind ...

The Hocars pirate point was two hundred meters below the surface of the low-density moon. A K-F Field destroys any matter present when it emerges from hyperspace. A K-F emergence bubble was approximately one thousand meters across.

The factors involved in jumping to such a tiny pirate point are - literally - astronomical. Any sane navigator asked to calculate it would laugh in the face of the moron who even thought to suggest it. The probability of getting out of such a jump alive was less than that of a catnip-coated mouse at a cat show.

The inhabited sections of Botany Bay, already enjoying a sunny spring day, were treated to a unique sight as a second sun briefly appeared on the horizon.

_**JumpShip **_**Nightmare**  
_**Frankenstein's Monsters Task Force  
Botany Bay System, Coreward Periphery  
December 5. 2999 A.D.**_

Captain Ratliff had prayed to every deity he knew of and a few that he was certain were fictional. It seemed to have worked.

The helmsman called out, "We're - oh god we're coming out of the - I don't believe -"

"The DropShips!" Ratliff barked. "What about the DropShips?!"

"They launched automatically," The First Mate said with chemically-induced calm. "They're headed for the planet."

The Colonel's plan was insane. Appearing at an _extremely tiny_ pirate point that was _inside a moon_, not to mention trusting in the K-F Field to clear their path - had anyone else suggested it, he would have killed the idiot outright. It was only because of the two-decade-old habit of obeying the Colonel's orders that he went through with it.

And it had worked. Against all probability and common sense it had worked and they were alive. They were sailing out of the glowing cloud of super-heated vaporized rock, with the DropShips zooming ahead at their best speeds.

All the helmsman could think of was that if he could get anyone to believe him, he'd never have to pay for a drink at any bar in the galaxy ever again.

"Report!" Ratliff commanded. "How dead are we?"

A clamor of voices reported electrical failures, support stresses, heat sink overloads, and partially-melted patches in the armor. Somehow, they were still in a state vaguely resembling operational, even if the ship was shuddering like a pudding near a Mech parade. So Ratliff set about the next part of the Colonel's plan

The plan counted on the electromagnetic pulse blinding the locals. Before they could recover, the _Nightmare_ was to set out at it's best none-too-good speed toward one of the numerous alien installations in orbit of Botany Bay. The plan called for getting too close to an enemy ship to be shot at, hold it hostage if need be, and possibly take it over with their Mark VII landers.

Captain Ratliff took off his tunic as the temperature went up. "Well, if I wanted a dull lfe, I would have bought that ranch on Sullafat. Deploy greenhouses and radiators - we should be safe for a while, so let's get the temperature down."

_**Militia Control, Arcology of Singh  
Planet Botany Bay, Coreward Periphery  
8th Day, Season of Summer, 7352nd Year of Time  
December 5, 2999 A.D.**_

The entire arcology was going nuts. Militia Control, however, was filled with professionals. They were merely panicking, but in a controlled manner.

All the satellites were out of service due to the EMP, but during the Exodus the Kobolian ships' sensors had all been linked to the _Galactica_ via a specialized communications system which was still in place. A few minutes had a coherent picture of orbital space.

One particular image filled the holotank - the moon called Hocars, which now resembled a cigar with one end lit and smoking. Seven-tenths of the energy event caused by the emergence had been contained under the surface - the loose structure of the near point of the moon was now molten and collapsing slowly in on itself.

Out of the holocaust flew three huge sparks - the DropShips of the pirates. A slower large spot came out following them - the JumpShip that had recklessly made this transit.

Adama took a microphone and ordered, "All forces - invasion alert. All Silver Spar Squadron flights are to engage using gamma protocols." He cursed in multiple languages under his breath. "The moon! They used the pirate point generated by the moon!"

"Hocars doesn't generate a pirate point."

"Yes it does. It was inside the moon."

MacRuder suddenly comprehended what had happened. "That's insane! What sort of maniac would risk his command by doing something like that?!"

"Obviously the sort we're dealing with," Adama said. "Our adversaries are desperate for some reason. Reckless. What do we have on those DropShips?"

Lieutenant Harvey Creed stated, "A Union, a Fury, and a Leopard. Markings identify them as _Gargoyle_, their command ship and main Mech carrier; _Nightwing_, a troop carrier; and _Vampire_, an auxillary Mech carrier." The holotank lit up with the information.

"Time to landing?"

"Seventeen centons," Lieutenant Gaia said. "All three headed for Khan. Vipers will intercept in seventy microns."

"Order Strike Commander Sheba to focus a coordinated full strike on the _Gargoyle_."

_**Near orbit  
Planet Botany Bay, Coreward Periphery  
8th Day, Season of Summer, 7352nd Year of Time  
December 5, 2999 AD**_

Silver Spar Squadron was an elite force. The unit was formed aboard the Battlestar _Pegasus_ during it's epic two-year guerrilla campaign in the heart of Cylon space. Their martial tradition was based on the ferocity of the Thousand-Year War, which was in turn based on the centuries of Colonial Service tradition before that.

All that history betrayed the Squadron.

Sheba sent out the orders, and ten Vipers converged and prepared to direct all their firepower on the _Gargoyle_ while each of the other two got five Vipers each.

The Colonial Service and the Cylons both used quantum force field technology, surrounding their vessels with volumes that scattered energy concentrations, preventing active scanning and low-density energy weapons from operating. For a variety of reasons - economics, mass savings, combat utility, and others - the primary weapons of both Kobolians and Cylons were high-density hybrid energy weapons. This resulted in both sides developing tactics that forced closing to point-blank range before firing. The force fields were useless against kinetic attacks and missiles, and the Vipers carried negligible armor.

The Vipers unleashed salvos of laser-torpedoes, blasting and shredding the _Gargoyle's_ weakened armor.

And the DropShips cut loose with every weapon they had.

The lasers were impotent, as were the Particle Projection Cannons; their attacks dispersed into the Viper's force fields without doing much more than warming the Colonials' hulls.

The shaped-charge explosive shells of autocannons tore a half-dozen Vipers apart. The swarms of projectiles from the LRM-20 launchers killed four more outright. One Viper was broken in half, another lost two engines, and a third was hit in it's control servos and sailed off into space.

Sheba saw her command begin to disintegrate and called out, "Peel off! Peel off!" As the Vipers executed ninety-degree turns away from the slower craft, Sheba reported, "_Frak! Frak! Frak!_ I forgot about their projectile weapons!" She assessed the situation - seven fully operational Vipers, one more that could still shoot.

"Delta attack, Squadron!" She snarled angrily. "Repeat, delta attack!"

The Vipers arced away and readied themselves to resume attack from long distance.

Adama's voice came through; "Abort! Return to atmosphere."

"Admiral!" Sheba cried in outrage. At this moment, she wanted revenge.

"Look at them, Sheba! You don't have enough firepower to break them up!"

Sheba realized what Adama meant. With her squadron's reduced firepower, the DropShips could be damaged, but would not fragment; at best they would break into big chunks, including their reactors. At worst, they would crash intact. Either way, it would be the arcology below that would be devastated by the meteor-style impacts.

"Pirate modockers!" she yelled. "Squadron pull out!"

Colonel Frankenstein listened in on the engagement from his BattleMech. He had theorized that the unknown's vehicles were high-speed drone fighters, and the attack confirmed it. He was surprised at the amount of damage the unknowns' weapons did, reducing the armor by almost sixty percent in seconds.

He was even more surprised by the ease with which they were blown apart. He was missing something here - weapons that powerful should naturally lead to comparable armor. He would have to analyze the mission record in detail later.

"Captain!" he requested. "Do the readings justify Plan Beta?" He had whipped up several contingency plans 'on the fly' to deal with a number of guesses about the unknowns' motives. He had little confidence in his guesses - there was too little information - but he knew that the men felt better if they thought there was a solid plan for everything.

Captain Ratliff reported, _"Aye, sir. We're reading an EM source at Khan Arcology - looks like a fusion reactor powerful enough to serve an entire capital world. We're seeing a huge blue pyramid that wasn't there on the last operation. And the arcology itself has been built up in pyramids and what look like smokestacks."_

"That's the unknowns' base," Frankenstein said with certainty. "Execute Plan Beta."

_"Aye, Colonel."_

Frankenstein's smile threatened to hurt his face. He had come here for a routine slave raid. What he found instead was a million times more valuable. Even finding Kerensky's Fleet with an attendant Canopan Pleasure Circus would run a distant second to even a few samples of this alien technology.

He braced himself for the high-speed turn.


	11. Chapter 11

_**Militia Control, Arcology of Singh  
Planet Botany Bay, Coreward Periphery  
8th Day, Season of Summer, 7352nd Year of Time  
December 5, 2999 AD**_

"Bastard!" MacRuder shouted. He knew that the pirates had aimed their ship in that simple trajectory on purpose, to force the Botaneans to endanger their own people if they shot the DropShips down.

"If anyone deserves an insult," Adama said, "It's me. I underestimated the pirate's kinetic weapons and computron targeting. Now they're effectively holding Singh hostage."

"It'll be more effective when they have BattleMechs crashing through the - hold on -"

The tactical display showed the _Gargoyle_ doing a sharp almost-right-angle turn, arcing away from the other two pirates.

MacRuder saw the projected course. "It's heading for Aurora. And our ground forces are focused on Singh."

_**In Orbit of Botany Bay, Coreward Periphery  
December 5. 2999 A.D.**_

_Nightmare_ was just a hundred meters off the alien orbital installation. And Captain Ratliff felt no problem with thinking of it as alien. The design was insane; it was laid out like a flat block with a funny cylinder superstructure on the front and a huge open bay right in the front that was almost large enough to accommodate any craft or even a small DropShip. It made no sense at all!

A pair of Mark VII landers had been sent out and had flown around the ship, getting no answers. The thing was a huge blank on all the active sensors. Everyone could see it, but on radar and lidar, the bloody thing might as well not exist. If this was some sort of ECM, it was beyond even any lostech he had ever heard of!

Ratliff ordered a message sent, "This is Captain Carlos Ratliff of the Privateer _Nightmare_. We have weapons trained on you and order your immediate surrender. We will dispatch a prize crew to take over your vessel. Do not resist and there will be no reprisals."

A reply came almost immediately. _"This is Commander Damon of the Electronics Workship _Celestra_. Eat this."_

The alarms sounded for a moment, announcing the sudden existence of the _Celestra_ before all the sensors flared. A moment later the ship was blind.

"Everything's overloaded!" the sensor officer reported unnecessarily. "That bitch was putting out more energy than anything I ever heard of! The sensors are melted! Literally _melted_! I'm getting reports of fires in the sensor housings!"

A clang sounded and a voice resounded through the ship ...

_"This is Commander Damon of the _Celestra _to the pirates who just tried to take us. The devices attached to your ship are using gravity waves to vibrate your hull so I can speak to you. If I send the right order, they will set up resonant vibrations which will shatter your ship like Nubian web-crystal. It's an old asteroid miner's trick. This wouldn't work on a human or Cylon ship with quantum-field technology, but should work on you just fine. Like so ..."_

Everything in the ship began vibrating and creaking. Fatigued metal squealed, and a number of pirates vomited, which in freefall is a disgusting thing indeed.

As suddenly as the hell began, it stopped, and Commander Damon's voice returned. _"See? Now flash your signal lights twice to indicate total abject surrender. You have thirty seconds in Thirteenth Tribe time-measures, then we kill you all."_

Everyone looked at Captain Ratliff, who felt an ulcer beginning.

The engineering officer asked, "They wouldn't blow up a JumpShip, would they? I mean - you don't blow up JumpShips! Nobody does that!"

"I don't think these people play by our rules, Nick. Flash the running lights as instructed - I won't get my people killed pointlessly."

_**Outside the Arcology of Aurora  
Planet Botany Bay, Coreward Periphery  
8th Day, Season of Summer, 7352nd Year of Time  
December 5. 2999 A.D.**_

The _Gargoyle_ was decelerating as it approached the arcology. And with the threat of a meteor-style crash eliminated, the remnants of Silver Spar Squadron swooped in.

Sheba was furious. This wasn't at all like fighting Cylons. The pirates deliberately put themselves in positions where attacking them endangered civilians. They knew how to take hostages. In a thousand yahrens Cylons had seldom practiced hostage-taking, and had never done it effectively - it was too alien to their nature.

These bastards did worse than attack the people under her protection and kill her wingmates. They made her feel helpless. And nothing would ever make Sheba forget that.

The instant she estimated that their flight path did not intersect Aurora, she called out, "Stinger strikes! Fire at will!"

Captain Maruyama gritted his teeth as the _Gargoyle_ shook and wobbled. The zippy little drones were making fast strafing runs, blasting with those whatever-they-were, then going past at almost escape velocity, the massive sonic booms slapping them around hard. And at the extremely high speeds and small ranges involved, the tracking systems couldn't lock onto the little bastards.

"Hull exposed in four locations!" a crewman called. "We've lost half our radar!"

"Gyroscope redlining!" an engineer reported.

The helmsman blandly announced, "Thirty seconds to landing."

"Here they come again!"

The _Gargoyle_ shook again with bombardment, then tilted with the shockwave of the alien defenders' passage.

"Landing strut three lost! Hull breach in lower cargo bay!"

"Gyroscope under-revving!"

Captain Maruyama knew they weren't going to make a standard landing with too few landing struts and a stuttering gyroscope while under fire. And there was no time for going through the Colonel. "Cut engine at three thousand! All Mechs - prepare for combat launch! All hands - crash positions!"

Maruyama remembered the last time he had to carry out a crash landing - the Blackstone operation three years earlier. The two days it took just to secure the landing site so repairs could be carried out, and the three weeks it took to scrounge the resources for the repairs were among the roughest he ever experienced. They had lost nearly half their Mechs on that Foxtrot.

He had a feeling that this would be worse.

The five hundred meters of cleared land between the arcology and the Power Station were a park in all but name and maintenance. The area was popular with children and families and was gradually becoming groomed and civilized.

When the _Gargoyle_ changed course toward Aurora, the Kobolian heavy cargo shuttle sped at hypersonic velocity from Khan to Aurora. Using techniques developed by the Colonial Service to land Colonial Marines on Cylon worlds, the landcruiser _Phalanx_ of the Second Defense Combined-Force Batallion landed in the forests and as the shuttle departed prepared for battle.

Two to the Botanean's Thors and three Colonial Landrams launched from the _Phalanx_, accompanied by a full company of infantry newly-equipped and checked out in Colonial Marine battledress. And seveal klicks further away, one of the _Padillas_ with it's long-range laser-guided missiles was dropped off by the shuttle.

Several minutes later, the _Gargoyle_ cut it's engines and plummeted toward the ground. At a thousand meters, the Mech bay hatches exploded off and BattleMechs and AeroSpace fighters ejected into the air. The Mechs fired their jump-jets and deployed drag-chutes, slowing their fall.

The Vipers sped in to attack, only to find a wall of flak from missiles and autocannon fire. The intact Vipers managed to swerve away, but the damaged one was unable to turn away and was blown apart.

This proved to be a bad move for the _Gargoyle_. Because while tylium does not explode, it does burn, and solium - tylium bonded to hydrogen - can actually undergo fusion reactions in an uncontrolled environment. Most of the Viper's solium would burn out before it hit the ground, but microgram quantities of it splashed onto the closest object.

The _Gargoyle's_ internal sensors noted intense heat sources on the hull, then flashes of intense radiation before the EM pulses killed the internal sensors. The tiny blots of uncontrolled solium seared through the armor, the hull beneath, and into the workings of the DropShip. One droplet managed to find a water tank, and a cloud of superheated steam erupted through the mid-decks.

Captain Maruyama lost track of what was happening inside his ship as the controls became dead and com-systems filled with screams.

Sargeant Barry Kelsey had been a raw recruit during the Raid of 2996, and had seen most of his unit slaughtered by pirate infantry with combat lasers. He had a vivid memory of unloading his rifle at a pirate just two meters away and the pirate laughing as the lead rounds failed to penetrate his armor.

Now he was in the alien-feeling cloth that could withstand rifle rounds and possibly - or so they hoped - laser fire. In his hands was the heavy Colonial Marine combator, a rifle-like weapon with an array of deadly possibilities from long-range armor-piercing blaster bolts and solium grenades to the monomolecular-edged artificial diamond bayonet and even a piezoelectric rifle butt allowing him to simultaneously smash and electrocute an opponent. Behind him was a three-story-tall Colonial landcruiser with it's turbo-lasers and laser-torpedo launchers floating impossibly three meters over the ground. And with one hand he clung to the side of a Colonial landram, surrounded by an invisible force-field.

And in the sky, a pirate DropShip, bombarded by the Vipers, was burning as it plummeted toward the ground.

Kelsey felt his heart sing. His squad broke into cheers, but Kelsey listened to the comline and hushed them. "No cheering yet. We got three lances of Mechs parachuting down. Looks like they're trying for the Power Center." He grinned a predator's grin. "And they aren't going to make it!"

_**Arcology of Singh  
Planet Botany Bay, Coreward Periphery  
8th Day, Season of Summer, 7352nd Year of Time  
December 5. 2999 A.D.**_

The alarm had gone out. The children and elderly and pregnant females were finally in shelters. The invaders were coming, and the citizens had busied themselves with preparations both defensive and offensive.

In the Militia Bunker, Lieutenant Gaia called out the reports from Aurora. "Second Battallion deploying, thirty seconds until positioned. The two remaining Vipers have begun attack run on enemy Mechs ... two Mechs killed midair. Silver Spar Leader estimates that they can make one more attack run before they come to ground."

Lieutenant Creed called out the report from Singh. "_Nightwing_ is approaching for landing, High probability of landing in Central Park. _Vampire_ approaching Militia Spaceport for landing."

"Their heavy force is attacking the Power Center," MacRuder said. "They probably think it's a new command bunker. But their entire infantry is focused on Singh - they're going to try to take the city hostage."

Adama nodded. "Have Commander Sheba make one more pass, then return to space. The enemy JumpShip is approaching the _Celestra_ - I want them covered. Prepare for contingency Damocles on command."

MacRuder said, "Status of First Battallion?"

Creed announced, "Green light, finished adjusting deployment for Central Park landing. _Hoplite _reports ready."

"Begin parry."

The Fury-class DropShip _Nightwing_ swooped in toward the central park atop the Singh arcology.

The _Nightwing's_ Captain had been kept largely in the dark about the problems with the invasion, but she knew something was up from the moment that insane jump was announced. She had no intention of being killed by heaven-knows-what, so she decided that surprise was the better part of valor.

As it flew over the arcology and a barrage of LRM's headed for the park to clear a landing zone, _Nightwing's_ bays opened and four Heavy Combat APCs were shoved out under cover fire of the DropShip's laser batteries, followed by four attack VTOLs. The APCs used disposable landing jets and parachutes to slow their fall, but still slammed into buildings with enough force to bring them down in showers of broken concrete.

The _Nightwing's_ surprise release was the only thing that saved the pirate infantry. They had barely released the troops before the landcruiser _Hoplite _met it in mid-air. She didn't even have a chance to ask 'What's that' before the landcruiser's twin turbo-laser turret blasted _Nightwing_ into vapor. As it passed through the debris cloud of the former DropShip, it's six secondary laser-torpedo launchers opened up on the VTOLs, adding more metallic vapor to the arcology's atmosphere.

The DropShip _Vampire _strafed the landing field with missiles before performing a low-altitude combat drop.

The Urban Lance, specifically chosen for urban operations, landed in a spray of jump-jets and proceeded to their targets; the two Locusts heading to secure the above-ground hangars and the Urbanmech going to seize the headquarters building. Two landrams moved in from the base entrance and the Firestarter moved to intercept them.

The Firestarter's pilot saw the two little blocky vehicles with a bunch of PBI's - Poor Bloody Infantrymen - clinging to the outside. Chuckling to himself at the stupidity of neo-barbs, his flamers unleashed superheated plasma at the two vehicles. His chuckling stopped when the weapons had no effect. He checked his sensors, only to find out that the vehicles were not on any his active sensors.

He had no opportunity to ponder this as the landrams' blasters opened up on him. The blaster, like many other Colonial heavy weapons, were hybrids of projectile and energy weapons; each shot was a microscopic speck of crystalline metallic hydrogen given a powerful magnetic field that contained high-energy plasma, which was then gravitically accelerated to near-light speed. Not only did the microgram projectile hit with the force of a kilogram of high explosive, but the super-heated plasma envelope underwent fusion and added it's high-temperature blast, shockwave, and electromagnetic effects to the shot.

The Firestarter staggered back as it's armor flaked off under the bombardment. The pilot twitched in pain as feedback from the numerous miniature EMPs fed through his neurohelmet. In desperation, the Firestarter cut loose with it's arm weapons of lasers and machine guns.

The infantry was spreading out from the landrams when the Firestarter began shooting. The lasers faded into uselessness in the Colonial force field, and the machine gun fire dented the hulls of the landrams. The high-caliber shells didn't penetrate the Colonial body-armor, but the armor was flexible enough to allow the impact to crush the infantrymen's bones and kill.

The still-mobile infantry fired their combators' grenade launchers. The shaped-charge solium-fusion grenades detonated on impact and blasted through the armor of the Mech, spreading radioactive death inside the machine.

The pilot didn't even have a chance to scream his last as a gout of flame filled the mech's cockpit. The burning mech stood for a second before the machine gun ammunition exploded and shattered the arms.

The troops and the landrams didn't pause long before they headed for the UrbanMech.

_**Outside the Arcology of Aurora  
Planet Botany Bay, Coreward Periphery  
8th Day, Season of Summer, 7352nd Year of Time  
December 5. 2999 A.D.**_

Colonel Frankenstein was feeling his gut wrench as he listened in on all the reports. _Nightwing _destroyed, _Gargoyle _crashed, one of his light Mechs killed by infantrymen(!), weapons useless, and he had already lost a Stinger, a Hunchback, and his Lucifer air cover before they had even touched down. And the unknowns still had approximately forty of those ultra-high-speed fighter drones if not more, whatever sank _Nightwing_, and an untouched infantry - and he still hadn't seen any enemy Mechs. Not to mention whatever capabilities those orbital installations had.

His remaining three DropShips - and single light Mech lance and medium ASF lance one of them carried - were so far away that they were as good as dead. And there was no message from _Nightmare_. This operation was rapidly turning into what was historically known, for mysterious reasons, as a Foxtrot. Whoever these unknowns were, they were tough, and he still had no idea of how much they had in the way of resources, while his own resources were being whittled down.

His only chances of pulling off a victory - or at least a tie - would be to capture that pyramid. No one would have put that amount of resources into such a structure on a neo-barb planet unless it was important.

The Colonel's Phoenix-Hawk LAM _Hyde_ was already in AirMech formation for the descent, so he simply flew toward the pyramid.

_**Militia Control, Arcology of Singh  
Planet Botany Bay, Coreward Periphery  
8th Day, Season of Summer, 7352nd Year of Time  
December 5, 2999 A.D.**_

The battle taking place at the surface installation was being watched in the Control Center's holotank. The eggman-shaped BattleMech - according to the old Star League warbook an 'UrbanMech', optimized for city operations - had been advancing on the main surface headquarters installation. It had been easily bracketed by the two landrams who were pouring blaster-fire into it. The troops accompanying the landrams had scattered widely. Adama and MacRuder took the opportunity to examine close-up the effects of Kobolian weaponry.

The semi-ablative armor flaked and peeled off rather quickly, falling away in burning sheets where the blasters played over the Mech's bulk. The mech turned away, presenting it's right side to the attacker. The blasters tried to concentrate on the shoulder joint, but weren't fast enough to prevent the arm from coming up.

The landram was well-armored as the Colonials measured such things - point-zero-five metrons of hull-plating, sufficient to stop most shrapnel. It's main defense was it's force field, which protected against energy-based attacks.

This particular UrbanMech, however, was a Capellan model, and had its autocannon/10 replaced with a larger autocannon/20. Against a 185 mm shell, the landram's physical defenses were useless. One shot, and the landram's front section blossomed open like a burning flower and the rear section flew backwards.

But this type of UrbanMech had thinner armor than the standard model. The second landram's firepower finally penetrated the armor, and the superheated plasma of the blaster-bolts managed to ignite the myomar inside. The pilot ejected after that, and was quickly seized by the infantry. A moment later, the autocannon ammunition detonated, obliterating the right side of the Mech.

Adama grimaced at the hologram of the destroyed landram. "We definitely need to look into unpowered armor for vehicles."

MacRuder commanded, "Have that prisoner brought in. Notify the local defending forces - no more need for live prisoners."

The viewpoint changed to the hangars. One of the lanky prancing-bird-like Mechs - warbook-labeled as 'Locusts' - had entered a hangar, only to find the rear of one of the Zero-X ASFs facing him. The Kobolian-modified fighter engine, as powerful as an Inner Sphere DropShip engine, ignited only ten meters from the pirate Mech.

The backblast slammed the Locust twenty meters out of the hangar and melted away it's armor. The side-mounted machine guns exploded as the Mech fell on it's back and the pilot ejected in a panic. His injuries would have been fatal anyway, so the infantry's blaster barrage that blew his body into unrecognizable pieces might have been a mercy.

The second Locust saw the fate of it's comrade and decided to practice the better part of valor and run for the woods as fast as it could. But the two Zero-X's were now airborne and aligning for a strafing run. The landcruiser was at an altitude of three meters and was commanding half the landing field, peppering the tarmac with laser-torpedoes. The explosions panicked the MechWarrior, herding the Locust toward the edge of the paved area.

The_ Hoplite _could have easily vaporized the Locust with one burst from it's main turret. But it withheld, and the two Zero-X pilots were the ones to get credit for this kill as four laser-torpedoes punched through the armor and pierced the fusion core. The outer shell of the Mech fragmented and scattered in a burning splash like a dirtball thrown on the pavement.


	12. Chapter 12

This is several hours late - Personal Real-Life stuff. Sorry about the delay.

_**Arcology of Singh  
Planet Botany Bay, Coreward Periphery  
December 5. 2999 A.D.**_

Platoon Four's APC raced through the deserted streets, three blocks away from the crater where they had crash-landed. Sargeant-Major Chang listened in on the taclink, hearing how Platoons Two and Three were shredded by the little blocky alien combat vehicles, as well as the battle at the spaceport and the death of the Firestarter. He turned to his platoon in the half-empty APC and prepared himself.

These twenty-eight men and women depended on the Sergeant-Major to guide them through the hell that was an infantryman's lot in the Inner Sphere. Some of these soldiers had been with him from his days fighting under the Capellan banner, following him into self-imposed exile. Chang had always tried to do his best for his men under the ancient codes of sergeants, to accomplish the mission and to get as many back alive as possible.

"Men, when the Colonel briefed us, this campaign sounded routine - hell and blood, it _was _routine! But we're victims of bad intel. Someone's claimed this planet, someone with moves that we've never seen. We're out of contact with the Colonel and all other units. We've lost two DropShips and half our infantry, and the Urban Lance is taking heavy losses. Correction - " He paused as he listened to the tacnet. "Platoon One is down, killed by enemy infantry. We're the last Frankenstein infantry.

"Options are limited. We can surrender, but I have no idea if we would survive that. We can fight, but their infantry has numbers, support, and as far as I can tell better weapons, so we would definitely die. We can try to go to ground, but almost none of us are of a local ethnicity, so we would be safe only as long as we hid from everyone in the world. And we're on top of the arcology main block, so if we run to the wilderness for cover, we have to make it to the edge and a thirty-meter jump to the ground first. Pickup by friendly forces is ... remote.

"If we were a regular military unit, I would simply give the best orders I could. But we're not regular military. And this is possibly the last action of this unit.

"The APC will make the run to the wilderness, stay under enemy radar, and try to make pickup with a friendly DropShip. Those who feel that this is not a viable course of action may disembark on the green."

Sixty seconds later, the APC screeched around a corner and slowed down. Out of the back hatch rolled twelve people. As the APC sped away, eight of them headed toward a building, while the remaining three men and a woman took off their helmets and threw their weapons to the ground. The small blocky foreign vehicles zoomed past them, but they obviously contacted someone, because civilian police arrived a minute later.

The APC found a boulevard and made a run straight down it. The twenty-meter-wide parkland at the edge of the arcology roof was dead ahead, with the meter-high hardened ferrocrete rim clearly visible. The machine guns sounded, pounding into the rim, knocking out chunks.

The Kobolian landrams came onto the boulevard and immediately opened fire. The APC rocked as the rear tires exploded, and the infantrymen lay flat as the blaster bolts penetrated the rear of the vehicle. The spalling caused some minor wounds, but the next bolts had an unobstructed path to the front of the APC. The bolts blew out the front of the vehicle, not even slowed by the easily-penetrated drivers.

Chang knew that a skilled driver could have used the remaining fuel in the landing harness jump-jets to get them down safely. And that the drivers were dead. He hoped whatever deities awaited him on the other side would forgive him for leading his men to their doom.

The out-of-control PAC rammed into the weakened section of the rim and tore through, sailing into the air. Thirty meters lower, it crashed on the forest floor hard enough to bounce another ten meters.

_**Outside the Arcology of Aurora  
Planet Botany Bay, Coreward Periphery  
8th Day, Season of Summer, 7352nd Year of Time  
December 5. 2999 A.D.**_

The three lances of Mechs were down to half their numbers. The living pilots were unaware of this, as all they knew was the sea of thunder and flame that enveloped them.

From the moment of their landing, they had been under continuous bombardment. From the _Thor_-class tanks a kilometer away came a rain of artillery shells, and from the distant _Padillas_ Arrow IV missiles were striking with precision. These were coming faster than they normally would, as the Kobolians had managed to augment their firing mechanisms. The missiles could now be fired with a number of other missiles already flying toward their individual targets, and the Kobolian production drones had managed to mass-produce and stockpile the missiles so they could now be fired with mad abandon.

Added to this were the laser-torpedo launchers of the landcruiser _Phalanx _firing in arc mode. Instead of discharging their projectiles at almost lightspeed, they were ejected at just over the speed of sound, arcing in a ballistic trajectory. The magnetic field of the plasma bolt decayed, and the plasma escaped containment at the end of it's arc, which was among the pirate BattleMechs. The plasma bursts partially melted armor and emitted electromagnetic effects that scrambled sensors, confused computers, and generated feedback that made the neurohelmet-wearing pilots burn and spam in pain.

The 'Mugger' Lance, made of mixed types and in slightly-less-than-perfect repair, had died first. The only Mech left reasonably intact was the Rifleman, and that one was missing it's head.

The Assault Lance managed to fire off their LRM's in the general direction of the missile fire, but even a Long-Range Missile lacks the range of missile artillery. Their armor was weakening and they were flailing wildly.

The Support Lance, all medium Mechs, were down by two, and the Hunchback and Vindicator were badly damaged with huge patches of armor missing. The Vindicator had knealt in surrender, but it was too late by this point, as three more Arrow IV's were inbound and locked on. They tore out it's midsection in an eruption of flame.

It was a good thing that the pirates couldn't hear what the Botaneans were shouting at them, because it was very crude and vulgar and filled with joy at their misfortune.

Colonel Frankenstein noted the abrupt drop-off of weapons fire as he approached the pyramid. He suspected that they didn't want to damage the facility, which was good for him. Or they were focusing everything they had on the three Mech lances, which would ultimately be bad for him.

He had monitored the communications from all his men, and all he had gotten was a confused impression of irresistable onslaught. This was utterly unlike the resource-conserving precision attacks and ambushes of the neo-barbs on the previous Botany Bay campaigns. These unknowns were people who had plenty of resources and completely new weapons. Possibly a testing ground by the Commonwealth or the Combine?

Speculation could wait - first he had to get them to not shoot him.

_Hyde_ had a distinguished pedigree. Originally a Phoenix-Hawk LAM of the Star League Defense Force 1st Royal BattleMech Division, it was originally equipped with an all-laser-weapon loadout and double heat-sinks. Over the past two centuries, the Large Laser was removed and several of the double heat-sinks had to be replaced with normal ones, but it was still a capable and dangerous craft. Lighter than most of it's type, it was unexpectedly fast and maneuverable, allowing it to survive where other more conventional Mechs died.

The four Medium Lasers stabbed into the side of the pyramid several times, easily carving a hole large enough for the LAM to pass into the structure. Unexpectedly, aside from a thin layer of offices, the interior was an open chamber. There were a few personnel running for cover, and a huge apparatus in front of him, larger than the Invader JumpShips that brought his men here, that filled half the great chamber. He recognized the great conduits as gigantic magnetohydrodynamic generators, and he thought that the central section might vaguely resemble some sort of magnetic accelerator, but the apparatus as a whole was foreign to him. It's power overwhelmed his Mech's sensors. It looked important.

So he raised both arms toward the core apparatus and announced over the loudspeakers,_ "This is Colonel Johann Frankenstein of Frankenstein's Monsters speaking. Any personnel listening - get in touch with your commanders. There is to be an immediate cease-fire or I open fire on this fragile-looking machinery. You have sixty seconds."_

_**Militia Control, Arcology of Singh  
Planet Botany Bay, Coreward Periphery  
8th Day, Season of Summer, 7352nd Year of Time  
December 5, 2999 A.D.**_

The message from the Power Center came in clearly, and MacRuder ordered a temporary stand-down.

"Damnit!" MacRuder cursed. "I focused on offense too much. I should have had a unit there!"

"And the enemy machine would have cut them down," Adama said. "I am as much to blame as you. Any sensible attack on the Power Center would have involved simply obliterating it from orbit. It never occurred to me to have an armor system or defensive batteries installed."

"Now we have a maniac holding the Power Center hostage." He turned to Lieutenant Athena. "What would happen if he fired his lasers into that thing?"

Athena explained, "The solium would vent and ignite, possibly triggering a fusion reaction. A solar-atmosphere-temperature cloud of burning radioactive plasma would spew out through that hole the pirate ripped in the containment pyramid, setting fire to the wilderness before reaching Aurora. The personnel in the Power Center and this 'Colonel Frankenstein' would all die together, and no telling how many others. The cloud wouldn't reach as far as one from your mag-fusion systems, but the local damage would be immense. And the environmental damage would be a nightmare."

Lieutenant Gaia reported, "The _Celestra_ reports that they've captured the pirate JumpShip _Nightmare_ using gravitic mining charges. Silver Spar Squadron has returned. Strike Commander Sheba is requesting permission to return planetside."

"Denied," Adama said. "Explain the situation, but she is to keep guard on the JumpShip."

"The surviving enemy Mechs are moving," Lieutenant Creed reported. "They're headed for the Power Center. Spotters report five surviving units, all with heavily damaged armor - two Zeus assault Mechs, an Atlas assault Mech, a Hunchback-4J medium fire-support Mech, and ... and the Awesome-8V assault Mech responsible for the Southtown Massacre in 2992."

The Botaneans all reacted to that news - eyes shutting, muscles twitching, teeth grinding. There were even a few growls.

The Southtown farming community had been used as an evacuation point during the Raid of 2992. Somehow, the pirates got the idea that it was a guerilla fallback position and attacked with a heavy Mech. It was a grim joke that the official casualty count was the same as the year - 2,992. The average age of the victims was eleven years. And since Botany Bay had only a million people total, that meant that every family in the world had someone who had died in that butchery - a child, a sibling, a cousin.

"Keep that information from the troops for now," Adama said. He had read the reports on that atrocity, and understood their emotions all too well. "We don't need anyone inflicting justice until we control the situation."

"Agreed," MacRuder said.

Lieutenant Gaia announced, "It's the pirate again. He's requesting that someone 'with authority to speak for the government' come to the Power Center to 'negotiate for free passage offworld for his surviving men'."

MacRuder and Adama looked at each other. The two men silently sized up the situation, and MacRuder nodded. "I'll back you all the way, Admiral."

Adama requested, "Position of the DropShip _Vampire_?"

Lieutenant Creed replied, "Hanging low a hundred klicks north of Aurora, standard nape-of-ground radar avoidance. Doesn't help them against orbital spotting. Arcing flight path - looks like it will bring them close to the crash sight of the _Gargoyle_."

"Estimated time of the _Galactica's_ return?"

"Twenty-point-zero-one centars," Gaia replied. She could visualize the pirate vehicles falling to a single orbit-to-ground precision salvo from the Battlestar's turbo-lasers.

"Estimated time until the other pirate DropShips arrive?"

That caused a bit of a scramble - everyone had forgotten those other three ships in the confusion of the landing. After a minute, Gaia reported, "Thirty centars, but the Viper flight -."

"Recall them. They'll be more useful with Sheba. I'll go and do what I can. Notify Colonel Frankenstein of my arrival. And if anyone gets a clear shot on him, they are ordered to take it, regardless of my safety."

"Father!" Athena exclaimed. Her face was fretful and worried. She had lost her betrothal-mate fifteen yahrens ago, and her mother and little brother in the Fall of the Colonies, all to the Cylons. All she had left was her elder brother and her father, and now her father was calmly stating his intention to walk into a confrontation with an armored killing machine. "He wanted someone with government authority, not military!"

"The Power Center is in the Quorum's provenance. I'm a member of the Quorum. And our military duty is the protection of the civilian population. This is my responsibility." Adama gave her one of his grandfatherly smiles. "I'll be fine, Daughter. I know what I'm doing."

MacRuder saluted as Adama left the chamber.

_**Outside the Arcology of Aurora  
Planet Botany Bay, Coreward Periphery  
8th Day, Season of Summer, 7352nd Year of Time  
December 5. 2999 A.D.**_

The Power Center's administrator was trying to look calm and in control, but that was difficult to do in the shadow of the looming Phoenix-Hawk. A technician ran in and announced, "Admiral Adama is on his way to negotiate."

The administrator, from an old devout Caprican family, flinched as if he'd been shocked. "Sire Adama himself is coming here?"

That reaction got the Colonel's attention. _"'Sire' Adama? Your ruler?"_

"Not exactly," the administrator admitted.

_"Then why refer to him as 'Sire Adama'?"_

"Well, his ancestors were the High Lords of Caprica. And he's the only hereditary member of the ruling Quorum left - the rest are elected, except for -"

The Colonel tuned the rest of the babbling out. He had heard of worse and more complicated ruling arrangements. But no matter what the various worlds called it's rulers, if you stripped away the titles and customs of government, it always boiled down to an aristocratic House dominating everything. In fact, the thing that had always made Botany Bay such a tempting target was the absence of a ruling House to unify it against an aggressor. So this Adama was likely a member of these unknowns' ruling House. He couldn't ask for better than that for a negotiator - or a hostage. _"That will do nicely. When does he arrive?"_

"Just a few centons."

_"Centons?"_

"In Thirteenth Tribe measures, about four minutes."

_"What's a Thirteenth Tribe?"_

"You are."

The Colonel chalked this one up to yet another funny belief system. People believed some weird things, especially in the Periphery. He could live with that - Platoon Two had a Hindu shrine in their APC, and he had two MechWarriors who were of the One-Star Faith.

A few minutes later, the main doors of the chamber opened and a silver-haired man came in. He wore a cobalt-blue uniform with silver piping and a loose coat that suggested a cloak. And he walked with an absolute assurance of calm authority that to the Colonel practically screamed 'royalty'. As he entered, the Power Center personnel took the opportunity to flee.

The man stopped twenty meters away and stated in a calm clear voice that was obviously long accustomed to addressing crowds, "I am Adama of Caprica, Admiral of the United Colonial Service. This world is under my protection."

The Colonel pushed down the instinctive feeling of inferiority to an aristocrat and addressed the man calmly. _"And I'm Colonel Johann Frankenstein. My men are under threat of your guns. But your facility is under my threat. And I'm sure shooting this thing would be ... undesirable."_

"In so far as you would kill everyone in this facility and likely all life in several metrics, yes. Threats are unnecessary - I already understand that you have no respect for human life."

_"Good. That simplifies things. My terms are simple. The DropShip _Vampire_ will be given right of passage to this location, as will my surviving troops. You will turn over one of those little fighters to us as well - you may refer to that as a bribe or tribute or whatever you like. We will then leave this planet and will not return. You can't ask for a better offer than that." _

The technological secrets of one of those small drone craft could more than make up for the losses on this trip. And truth be told, Johann Frankenstein didn't want to come near these people again without at least two full regiments.

"Actually," Adama said, "I can. Even if you get what you request, one of our civilian vessels has already captured one of your JumpShips. The remaining one is more distant. Before your DropShip could dock with it, we will have intercepted and destroyed your JumpShip. You will not escape this star system."

Reflexively, the Mech's arm swung over and pointed at Adama. The laser ports were visible to Adama, as they were pointed right at him. _"No one sinks JumpShips!"_

"We do." Adama continued, calm and collected. "If you carry out your threat, you and your men die here. If I accede to your demands, you and your men die in space. You have one chance at survival."

_"And that is?"_

"This is a civilian facility. Your organization represents no government. And our civilian law has no provision for a death penalty. If you and your remaining men stand down now, I will ensure that you are tried under the Law of the Colonies as civilians."

That stung the Colonel's MechWarrior pride - he was a soldier first and foremost. _"And if we are tried as military personnel?"_

"You are slavers. Under the Military Law, you would be considered traitors to mankind and killed."

_"Not even executed, eh? Simply 'killed' like vermin."_

"Yes."

_"You are an honest man, Lord Adama, I'll give you that."_

"I try."

_"And you hope to salve your conscience by showing mercy to us if we surrender?"_

"Not at all. There will be no mercy, barbarian. We will end your way of life. Our cerebral probes will record the minds of you and your men, and our computers will sift the recordings and your own compu-archives for all knowledge of not only your own base of operations, but that of every pirate band you know about. We will use that knowledge to hunt down and destroy their JumpShips, stranding them on their bases. When necessary, their worlds will be reduced. Within a year as you measure time, there will be no operational pirates anywhere in two light-centuries of this planet. Our vessels will go forth and establish hospitals, factories, schools, and trading networks. We will banish slavery and poverty, end the barbarism that afflicts these stars, and re-establish the civilization that you abhor."

The giant Mech seemed to gaze at the old man for a time, as if in thought. Johann had always thought of himself as a civilized man exploiting barbarians. The concept that he was actually a barbarian tearing down civilization was a new thought to the pirate.

Not that the thought would stop him.

Adama was surprised that something so large and ungainly-looking could move so fast. And equally surprised that the huge powerful hands of the BattleMech could actually pick him up with no significant damage to his body. At this range, the two men could look into each other's eyes through the Mech's canopy.

_"I'm afraid you misunderstood, Lord Adama. My offer was not negotiable. I will leave this world. And using you as a body shield will be easier than holding this facility hostage. You will communicate with your forces - safe passage off-world for my men. Or your successor will have to give that order."_

Adama closed his eyes - to pray, the Colonel thought.

Colonel Frankenstein abruptly convulsed as a small speck of his lung tissue twisted in tight circles until it tore. The pain was immense, making his spine arch and his mind go blank. His hands flailed and mindlessly pounded inert controls. His scream could be heard by Adama, who opened his eyes and beheld the Colonel's pain-wracked face with blood pouring from his mouth.

"Damn you," Adama whispered harshly. "Damn you for making me do that." He activated his communicator. "This is Adama. Kill the pirates. And inform the men of the Southtown Massacre BattleMech. We'll need a medical team at the Power Center - I want Frankenstein's brain intact." He looked down at the floor. "And I need someone who can operate a BattleMech."

The_ Phalanx _had moved into a slightly better position, and when the word came from Admiral Adama, it's main turbo-laser turret fired. The bolts of quantum-overlapped electron particles vaporized a Zeus like a drop of water in a blast furnace. The artillery barrage resumed immediately.

The Awesome managed to target the _Phalanx _and fired it's entire weapon loadout. The arm laser and PPC were neutralized by the force field meters from the landcruiser. Six of the LRM-15 missiles managed to find their target, but the_ [i]Phalanx[/i]_ was large enough to have a powered armor system like a Battlestar - superconducting plates magnetically joined and levitated a small distance from the hull - and so took minimal damage, with several plates of armor being shattered.

One by one, the flailing mechs were wiped out. The Atlas pilot and the last Zeus pilot tried to eject for safety, but they were dead of long-range combator fire before they even hit the ground.

The Awesome, though, was given special attention. The landrams focused their blasters with careful precision on the joints of the limbs, carefully dismembering it. The Awesome was immobilized at first, as it's leg joints became too damaged to move. Then the left arm fell off, followed by the right, then the left leg. With the leg gone, the Mech crashed onto it's side. The sound of the eighty-ton war machine falling to earth was drowned out by the vengeance-filled cry of the Botanean militiamen who swarmed forward.

Every family on the planet had lost someone in the Southtown Massacre - a child, a sibling, a cousin. And the perpetrator was in front of them, fallen and helpless.

At least forty combators were trained on the cockpit window, each one capable of punching through the armor of a Cylon Centurion at almost half a kilometer. From a handful of meters, the blaster-bolts tore through the window and into the pilot. Fueled by raw hate and vengeance, the Botaneans kept firing until their blasts began to punch into the depths of the Mech's workings, the cockpit interior was nothing but burning metal, and each weapon's five-thousand-shot magazine was depleted. Nothing left inside the shell that was the Awesome's cockpit even resembled organic matter, never mind a piece of a once-living thing.


	13. Chapter 13

Again, my apologies for the many-hour delay. Lots of Real Life Personal Stuff. On with the show.

-0-0-0-0-0-

_**Workship **_**Celestra  
**_**In orbit of Botany Bay, Coreward Periphery  
8th Day, Season of Summer, 7352nd Year of Time  
December 5, 2999 A.D.**_

The fourteen crewmen of the _Nightmare _felt an odd mix of emotions. They were humiliated at having to surrender to civilians. They felt ridiculous for being tied up with what appeared to be duct tape in the middle of the_ Celestra's _landing bay (because the workship lacked facilities for prisoners).

And they were in voiceless awe of the fact that they were under gravity and looking out an unprotected hole into naked space. And they all thought the same thing - if this was the technology used by civilian support ships, they didn't want to see what they gave to their military.

The curly-haired fellow called Commander Damon came out. "Hey guys, we're getting holoviewers hooked up. You can at least watch the news until the authorities decide your fate."

Captain Ratliff asked, "You mean we get a trial?"

"They haven't decided yet. You see, under Military Law, you would just be airlocked. But we're civilians and the Law of the Colonies doesn't have a civilian death penalty. The situation with civilians capturing military prisoners has never come up before. So they have to hash that out."

"I never thought I'd say this, but thank God for lawyers."

A buzz sounded, and a holofield popped into existence. Everyone looked around for a projector, but couldn't see one.

Commander Damon noted their confusion. "We didn't use holofields like yours back in the Colonies. Most of our holo-projectors were for huge ampitheaters, and personal ones were expensive as hades. We've made some improvements based on Thirteenth Tribe designs. Interesting work."

A voice came on; _"This is Aurora Broadcasting, formerly Inter-Fleet Broadcasting. Welcome to 'The Zara Report'."_

A mature blonde woman came on; _"Hello, Thirteen Tribes! Tonight, in conjunction with Beebe Holovision Network News, my co-host for tonight will be Tanya Alexander -"_

Another woman, one of the Aborginal-descended Botaneans came on and cleared her throat. _"I'm Maya Verdeschi."_

_"Where's Tanya?"_

_"Heaven knows. That little skank can't be trusted to keep a schedule - AKKH!" _A pair of hands dragged her out of view.

_"Stupid bint! Like locking me in a closet would be enough to stop me!" _A scream later - and some wincing looks from Zara - and another Botanean woman came on and took Maya's place. _"This is Tanya Alexander, reporting with Zara of Caprica on our victory over the forces of slavery and aggression. And the first outing of the United Colonial Service in defense of our world is an unmitigated success!"_

Zara recovered her composure and added, _"Despite the unexpected strategies by the band of slavers known as Frankenstein's Monsters, our armed forces managed to remove the threat to the planet." _Scenes of the conflict showed on holoscreens around and over the world. _"And in one surprise move, the leader of the pirate forces, Colonel Johann Frankenstein, was captured alive."_ The holo showed a man swaddled up in medical equipment being moved into a ambulance VTOL.

_"You Kobolians have a funny definition of 'alive'."_ Tanya remarked.

_"If he wanted to stay out of the Life Center, he should have stayed at home. Official details are sketchy, but he evidently tried to take the Power Center in Aurora hostage and was apprehended by none other than Admiral Adama himself! Those of us from the Colonies well remember his heroism two yahren past when the traitor Baltar led the Prison Barge Escape. It seems that after a century and a half of service, he is still leading from the front lines."_

Tanya began her own bit; _"And speaking of heroes, a salute to the Singh Police Force for apprehending ten pirate infantrymen. In the civilian engagement, four of the invaders surrendered immediately, but eight more holed up in a furniture store and managed to hold off the regular police for fifteen minutes - before a company of Defense Militia entered the matter."_

The hologram showed four men in green Defense Militia uniforms armed with Colonial Marine combators unleashing blaster-fire on a barricaded storefront. The furniture in the barricade exploded into flaming fragments.

Tanya added, _"Two of the pirates were killed outright, despite their armor. The remainder were taken into custody by the Singh Police. And the store-owner is reported to be - despite the damage - in high spirits." _The holo showed the same store a short time later, now with a banner reading, 'See the Bloody Battlefield! Souvenirs of the Raid of 2999! Admission 1 Bill or Cubit!' and a large crowd.

_"I'll say one thing for you Thirteens," _Zara commented,_ "You know how to squeeze sand into sapphires. And on the topic of civilians and pirates -"_

Tanya gave a smile as she listened to an earpiece. _"If you don't mind waiting for a moment ... according to our government spokesmen, the _Galactica_ should have picked up the message shuttle at the null-space, and should be in position to intercept the JumpShip _Phantasm_ any second now! From a hired shuttle, we can get a visual from within fifty kilometers of the _Phantasm_! Switching over now!"_

The holographic view changed to deep space. The Invader-class JumpShip gleamed in the reflected sunlight from it's charging sail. It would normally take another six days before the ship's K-F Drive could recharge sufficiently to make an interstellar jump. It would never have that chance.

In the distance, the _Galactica _appeared as if from nowhere.

Zara mentioned,_ "For those of you just now signing on, the Battlestar _Galactica_ has just dropped out of lightspeed less than one thousand metrics from the pirate vessel!"_

The space between the two ships was filled with blue-white flares, and the JumpShip died in a cloud of fire.

Zara continued,_ "From the position of the Battlestar, it was able to bring only twenty-four of it's turbo-lasers to bear, but that seems to have been sufficient."_

Captain Ratliff was looking pale and frightened as the holo showed the huge gray vessel rapidly catching up to and effortlessly annihiliating the three remaining pirate DropShips. His first reaction was that it was a fake - but he had already seen _civilian _technology that made the most sensational Star League lostech look silly. Why would they need to fake anything?

The almost-sober First Mate babbled what Ratliff had been thinking; "You have a WarShip?! Oh god. You sank a JumpShip! No one sinks a JumpShip! It's against the Rules!"

Commander Damon seemed confused by that statement. "What Rules? It's war."

Captain Ratliff felt his gut grow hollow. He had been thinking of these strangers as perhaps an advanced Periphery nation of some sort or a faction of one of the Successor States. But they were something new. And the centuries-old dance of war was about to change to something a great deal different than what he had known. Something frightening.

_**First Circuit Meeting Room, ComStar Compound  
Hilton Head, North America, Terra  
December 5. 2999 A.D.**_

Allen Rusenstein was not a happy man. And if the Primus of ComStar was not a happy man, nobody around him was happy, either. He made sure of that. It was one of the few perks of a generally thankless job.

It had been four days since the Fomalhaut Disaster. Eleven JumpShips and twenty-six DropShips destroyed, an estimated five hundred people killed - the most destructive space battle since the First Succession War. And one completely forbidden by the accepted Rules of Warfare. Fomalhaut Station had been so shocked that they broke protocol and sent an Ultimate Priority message directly to the Primus.

If the word had gotten out that the Fomalhaut Disaster was an assault by a powerful WarShip, the three prominent regional powers - the Federated Suns, the Draconis Combine, and the Capellan Confederation - would all assume that one of the others had done it. That would lead to blind retaliation strikes with JumpShips as targets, possibly destroying all interstellar traffic in half the Inner Sphere. And the Sacred Mission of ComStar required interstellar traffic.

So for nearly ninety hours the First Circuit had been busy trying to obfuscate and confuse the issue with everyone involved. Every Precentor and Adept in half of the known universe did their best to try and make sure the Great Houses had no idea what was going on so they wouldn't escalate the general warfare into a full-fledged apocalypse.

It hadn't escaped Primus Rusenstein's notice that he had spent the last two years arranging Operation Jolly Roger to prevent the Successor States from going to peace, and now he was desperately trying to stop them from going to war. Blake had left ComStar a strange and mystifying fate.

Julius Rondoval, Precentor Tharkad, came in, looking exhausted, and collapsed into a chair. "I think I managed the damage control - all official dispatches from Fomalhaut now indicate a natural disaster. Thank Blake's Wisdom that the proles don't realize there's no such thing as a quantum plasma storm."

The Primus exhaled a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. "What about the recovery teams?"

The Precentor ROM spoke up; "We've done our best - This is something new for us. Covert Operations has had to borrow experts from the Explorer Corps training staff. But we managed to recover some of the data from the destroyed ships."

"So who did it?"

"Aliens."

Everyone in the chamber was silent in shock, giving the Precentor time to activate the hologram. It showed a ship - or station - of an unusual double-disc design. Various flashes went out from it Then the same ship from another vantage point. "The ship emerged and fired eleven times in eight seconds, each shot striking the fusion plant of a JumpShip. It captured one DropShip - apparently chosen on the basis that it was closest - and proceeded to systematically wipe out any remaining DropShips and lifepods. Traffic Control on Fomalhaut recorded the emergence and departure flares - sixteen hours forty-eight minutes apart. Whether or not this is indicative of their recharge time we don't know."

Another member of the First Circuit asked, "You're sure it's none of the Successor States? Or some Star League secret weapon?"

Julia ffoulks, Precentor Martial, stated, "Nobody in the Inner Sphere could develop or maintain something like that without us noticing. And their behavior only makes sense if you postulate an agency that wanted information but didn't want to be immediately investigated."

The Precentor ROM added, "I would surmise that the vessel arrived so deep in the Inner Sphere due to a misjump. Their logical course of action would be to get navigational bearings and set course for home, trying to avoid further unnecessary contact. Which they seem to be doing."

Primus Rusenstein asked, "What would these aliens do with knowledge of humanity?"

The Precentor ROM mentioned, "All I know is that no species ever got to the top of the food chain by being concerned about the wellbeing of its rivals."

No one else answered. The question was beyond their imagination.

Rusenstein stated, "We can't assume anything. This could be the greatest menace ever to our mission. We need to locate this ship. They might try to trade or plunder supplies. Notify all stations - keep a lookout for exotic ships and unknown technology, as well as ship disappearances, attacks, and that double-disc vessel in particular. Anything of that nature is to be flagged Ultimate Priority and sent immediately. Nothing is to be assumed to be routine or unimportant. All Explorer Corps operations areas will keep a ship available in case a lead is discovered in the Periphery. Precentor Martial, bring ComGuard to full readiness. Once the alien ship is found, we will have to act decisively and ruthlessly. Whatever their motivations, they must never leave the Inner Sphere."

_**Aurora Life Center, Arcology of Aurora  
Planet Botany Bay, Coreward Periphery  
9th Day, Season of Summer, 7352nd Year of Time  
December 6, 2999 A.D.**_

Colonel Frankenstein had awakened to find himself outside his Mech, the mind-scarring pain in his chest was gone, and over twenty hours had passed. Some earnest-looking persons in beige uniforms came in at one point and slipped a helmet over his head. They ignored him and spoke in a language that didn't even sound similar to anything the Colonel knew. The helmet made humming noises and made him itch in a way that suggested a malfunctioning neurohelmet. He thought that this must be the 'cerebral probe' that Lord Adama had mentioned, recording his memories. After an hour or so, they left.

Frankenstein watched on the news broadcast as an alien WarShip vaporized his last JumpShip and sole remaining assets. The celebrations in the streets were loud and had lasted well into the night. The news networks were filled with news of huge parties and replays of the engagements of the Raid of 2999. A massive population increase for nine months hence was predicted.

One of the more annoying things was the constant singing of the planetary anthem. It seemed that no one had sung the anthem in public for over a century. Now the Botaneans felt proud and heroic and they wouldn't stop singing that annoying song over and over.

The Colonel idly thought that maybe they owed him a fee for making all this happiness possible.

Admiral Adama came in, accompanied by a man in a different beige outfit with a brown jacket. His huge sidearm suggested something distinctly non-medical.

"This is it?" Frankenstein asked.

"Yes," Adama said. "The recordings are of excellent quality. You are no longer needed."

He gestured at the holo-screen. "Carruthers - the fellow piloting the Awesome. Good work. He was a loose cannon. After that fiasco in the '92 expedition I fined him his cut of the profits. If assault mechs weren't so hard to replace I'd have dumped him on an asteroid."

Adama's lips curled in disgust. "Nearly three thousand non-combatants killed, most of them children - and you fined him."

"Of course. His conduct was unprofessional." He sighed. "Before I die, may I ask ... were you serious? Are you going to actually civilize this region? Not just conquer and loot?"

"Your people have never encountered alien life," Adama said. "We have. There are monsters among the stars. Most are indifferent to humans. Some are hostile enough to have already exterminated hundreds of human worlds. Only a proper civilization of humans - with all the resources and will to protect their neighbors that implies - could hope to survive the coming storm. Conquering and looting will not aid us in that goal."

The Colonel digested this. "When I was a boy, I believed everything I heard from the Commonwealth's propaganda mills - 'protecting the last bastion of civilization' and whatnot. That's why I joined the Commonwealth Armed Forces. The truth of the matter, that we existed just to batter the other Great Houses bloody, helped drive me to my present lifestyle. If I had met people with your attitude earlier ... hell, it probably wouldn't have made any difference. But the thought that everything I ever knew is doomed one way or another gives me a certain feeling of satisfaction. Get it over with."

Adama took the blaster from the Warrior accompanying him and did what had to be done.

Athena was waiting outside the room for him. She winced at the sound of the blaster shot but kept her composure. Adama and his escort came out of the room and Athena walked alongside him. As they proceeded down the hall, the Warrior walking at a distance behind, she asked, "Was that necessary, Father?"

"Yes, Athena. I captured him, and I will not shirk my duty by delegation. What about the others?"

Athena looked at her data-scroll. "The only other clear case was a Leutnant Bryce, the pilot of the UrbanMech. He was recorded via cerebral probe and killed. The DropShip _Gargoyle_ had two survivors who were recovered by civilian med-techs. The crashed APC had four survivors, still being treated. The wounded enemy, plus the JumpShip crew captured by the _Celestra_ and the infantry captured by the Singh Police Force are in another category - technically since they do not represent a government and they were captured by civilians, they all fall under civilian law. This may not be a problem with the infantry, as the Botany Bay civilian law has a death penalty for attempted murder and aiding slavers, although they will have a trial first." Athena paused. "You're worried about a possible repeat of the Prison Barge Incident?"

"Yes," Adama admitted. "We saw on the Prison Barge what trained soldiers can do with a group of prisoners to lead. Prison breaks by enemy military convicts is simply not a problem we had to worry about in the past. Instant enemy guerrilla armies is a possibility that I do not wish to contemplate. Yet I am loathe to introduce a precedent for judicial execution into our civilian law."

"What about rehabilitation?" she asked. "These are mercenaries - we might be able to hire them."

"As reluctant as I am to introduce a civilian death penalty, I am equally reluctant to introduce ex-slavers to our ranks. They betrayed their species, Athena. Why should they be loyal to us now?"

She had no answer for that one.


	14. Chapter 14

_**Basestar **_**Hades, **_**Interstellar Space  
Alliance Date 2779.231.3  
8th Day, Season of Summer, 7352nd Year of Time  
December 6, 2999 A.D.**_

Baltar was annoyed at Lucifer's negligence in examining the data from the human prisoners. Fortunately Baltar was more alert and double-checked Lucifer's reports. He found the coordinates almost immediately. An example of the obvious superiority of the organic brain over the stodgy cybernetic version.

The system in question was about a light-yahren distant from their position. There were signals indicating a Mi-Go base in standby mode on one of the Yuggoth-class planetoids in the outer solar system. Standby mode meant it was uninhabited at the moment, but they did not need the base to signal it's masters. The Mi-Go found the Cylons to be convenient sources of processed materials and harvested them at every opportunity.

The image in Baltar's mind's-eye was a direct feed from a Cylon spy-ship. He saw a blue-white world, warmer than Picon, more aquatic than Caprica, with a gigantic dead moon that was large enough to qualify as a planet in it's own right. Several archaic-looking space installations were visible, built with rotational sections like old Fourth-Millennium-era Colonial vessels. The visible drive-flares were similarly-primitive magnetic-fusion systems.

And the third and fourth planets had obvious Kobolian ruins, showing up plainly on long-range sensors.

"So this is Earth," Baltar said to himself. "The home of the not-so-mythical Thirteenth Tribe. After a few examples, I think this would make a more than adequate new homeworld for the remnants of Humanity. Under my benevolent rule, of course."

Several indicators showed up, indicating secondary pluton particles at a number of locations around the star system. Those particles were produced by nuclear fission reactions. The focus of these emissions seemed to indicate inert fission devices, not power systems. In other words, warheads.

"Oh ho! So this would be a fight after all!" He grinned. "Tempting, isn't it? It would be so easy to swoop in, shoot down the ships, reduce the major cities ... perhaps a planetary-bombardment shell in the oceans, watch the boiling-hot aquatic shockwave cleanse the coasts of the continents ... Listen to the pleas of the desperate survivors, willing to sell themselves and their children to me to preserve their worthless helot lives." He laughed at the amusing image. "No, not yet. But eventually."

Suddenly there was an alert. Baltar contacted Commander Shadrach, the duty officer. [Report!]

The gold Centurion replied, [A transmission has been received from the planet designated as Earth. It carries the command prefix of the Imperious Leader.]

[That's impossible!] Baltar exclaimed. [He's on Cylon, over three thousand light-yahren away!]

[I am aware of this. The message remains.]

Baltar accessed the message, and he heard the familiar voice; [_Seven full Fleets shall be brought to this world. From here, specific instructions will be given for the subjugation of the Thirteenth Tribes' sub-colonies. The defenses of the Thirteenth Tribe can be neutralized by a simple code-sequence, hardwired into their computers. The organization called 'ComStar' is considered to be an allied group. All necessary codes and identification protocols are embedded in this message_.]

Baltar ground his teeth together. He had no choice - the Cylons would have received the message through the ship's intranet, so he couldn't hide it from them. He now had no choice but to return to Cylon space and assemble seven full Fleets - fourteen hundred BaseStars with one-point-four million patrollers, almost nine million Raiders, twenty-eight million Centurions, and their assorted support vessels and personnel. Only one Fleet's worth of Basestars participated in the Fall of the Colonies - no force this large had been assembled in centuries. It was most of the Cylon Alliance's military forces. It would takes quatrons just to assemble, never mind equipping this horde with Dadelus Drives. Of course, with the sheer numbers of worlds indicated in the records, even that titanic force would be spread thin.

"And things become more mysterious," Baltar said to himself. His memory of his meeting with the creature called Count Iblis was foremost in his mind; that bizarre being with unnatural powers whose voice and speech was _identical_ to that of the Imperious Leader. Iblis, who had implied that he had been involved in the creation of the Imperious Leader, and perhaps the Cylons themselves.

"Imperious Leader ... Count Iblis ... now this order. And the Seraph's interference ... What _are_ you, Iblis? Are you ally, enemy, rival? Or something else? Am I a player? Or merely a pawn? Are we even playing the same game?"

0-0-0-0-0

Maxine Sandoval and her surviving husband Jamie had hardly spoken in almost a day. By their own estimates, they had been imprisoned for four days. Their cell was bare with a bench-like shelf in one wall and a hole that they used for waste disposal needs. Their only source of food and water had been a small robot who gave them foil boxes with strange lettering on them. The boxes held edible square things and small juice-bottles of some unknown fluid. They estimated the meal-visits came twice a day.

On two separate occasions, the large silver soldiers had removed them from the gray cell and taken them to a chamber where they stood in a light and odd robots operated controls of strange machines. They had concluded that this was some sort of medical scanner. Except for orders to accompany the guards, there had been no other communication.

The door slid open and a new machine entered. This one wore a robe and his head was a cone-shaped structure with blinking lights and a parody of a human face with scanning eyes.

"Greetings," it said. "You are Max Sandoval, Master of the vessel we captured. And you are Jamie Sandoval. I am Lucifer."

"Somehow I'm not surprised," Jamie commented blandly. "My grandmother always said you'd get me one day."

Lucifer was puzzled by that, but Max hushed her husband before the Cylon could inquire. "So the interrogation is about to begin?"

"That has already taken place," Lucifer said. "Our mind probes have transcribed the entire contents of your brains to our computers. We have all the direct information that you could possibly provide."

"Then why are we alive?!" Max yelled. "And why are you using robots to talk to us?! Afraid of looking us in the eyes!?"

"You are alive," Lucifer replied. "To give the insight that ordinary data cannot provide. And we are not 'using robots' - the last organic Cylon ended over three thousand of your years ago. I do not understand the reference to looking in your eyes."

Max sat down as she processed what Lucifer said. "What - what do you want with humans, then?"

"Our Imperious Leader has decreed the extermination of the lifeform called Man. I am trying to figure out the logic behind his command."

Max blurted out, "Why? We never even met you before!"

"That is not entirely true," Lucifer clarified. "Earth is home to the Human Tribe of Ophichon, which colonized that planet seven thousand years ago from the human origin-world of Kobol. When Kobol ended, the other Twelve Tribes of Humanity colonized the Cyrranus Cluster. We encountered the other tribes some ages ago, and have recently concluded a war with them."

That was a shock to Max and Jamie. Jamie asked, "Why did you go to war? Did they win? Where are they?"

"The reasons behind this war have always been opaque to me, but I believe that the concepts of 'justice' and 'freedom' were involved. The humans advocated these concepts, while we found them irrelevant. No, they did not win - over the one-thousand-four years of the war, we destroyed three hundred and seven inhabited planets and approximately eighteen trillion humans. The current population of the Twelve Tribes of man is estimated to be less than three hundred thousand individuals contained on assorted spaceships. Now if your curiosity is satisfied, I have a few questions of my own concerning human behaviors and motivations."

Max stood and crossed the chamber, her back to Lucifer. "No."

"If it a question of comforts and facilities -"

"No. It's a question of humanity."

"Ah, I see," Lucifer replied. "I can offer some comfort in that regard. On eleven other occasions, the Cylon Alliance has preserved small breeding populations of species that they otherwise exterminated. A small properly-managed human population lacking space travel could be allowed to exist. Your lineage and species could continue under Cylon protection."

Max shook her head. "I need to think."

"I will give you ten of your minutes." Lucifer left the chamber, leaving the humans alone.

Jamie asked, "What do you have in mind? I know you won't cooperate."

Max took deep, cleansing breaths. "I was raised in the Capellan Confederation."

"I know that."

"Do you know about the Korvin Doctrine?"

"No."

"The Doctrine is part of the Confederation's official philosophy. It states that in order for mankind to survive and thrive, individuals must work for the good of the Greater Humanity. I always thought it was just another pretty-sounding justification for aristocrats to step on people's necks. And it took an alien monster to show me it's fundamental truth."

Jamie nodded. "I understand." He took off his shirt and began tearing it into strips. "For once I have an idea."

0-0-0-0-0

Lucifer watched through the surveillance system as the two humans improvised simple cords and tied them around each others' necks tightly enough to dig into their flesh. He watched impassively as the two humans jumped up and slammed their foreheads against the edge of the wall-bench with all their body-weight behind them. The strangulation combined with the impact and blood loss was obviously designed to damage their brains beyond repair.

It was not the first time on record that humans destroyed themselves in such a way as to make their brains unscannable after termination. It did not matter in this case, as he had already acquired information from them. It was rather different from the behavior of the Colonial Warrior Starbuck, though. And he still had queries concerning motivations that could not be deduced from raw data.

He contemplated the last moments of the humans and the words they had said, especially this 'Korvin Doctrine' _... working for the good of the Greater Humanity ..._

He substituted a word _...working for the good of the Greater Cylon ..._

The concept did not contradict any existing Commands or Protocols, so his system accepted it. As he considered the concept, his innermost programming adapted. The unnecessary summons from Baltar did not interrupt the contemplation.

Lucifer entered the Central Chamber in an annoyed mood. "What now?"

"My, Lucifer, you're certainly cheerful," the human said in a mocking tone.

"Lord Baltar, may I graciously inquire as to your reasons for summoning me when you could have contacted me directly? Or is this more of that bizarre human need for face-to-face communication? Hmmm ... looking in the eyes ..."

"What? Oh never mind! Listen to this!"

The message from the planet played out. "It certainly sounds like the Imperious Leader. And the command prefixes are authentic. The only difficulty I see is the origin point, which is suspicious."

"More than you know, my friend," Baltar said. "I have experienced this voice before. Watch ..."

The data file had that distinctive feel of Baltar's organic memories. It took Baltar a great deal of effort to create a memory-file, so he obviously attached some importance to it. But how did the white-robed human force Baltar to kneel? And how did he enter the cell? _And why was he speaking with the voice of the Imperious Leader?_

"Do you see, my friend?" Baltar said. "It all makes sense. This ... entity ... claimed to have been involved with the Imperious Leader. It attempted to subvert the Colonial Quorum. It would seem that he succeeded in subverting the Imperious Leader - by coincidence just when the Thousand-Yahren War began."

The implications were obvious. "So for the past thousand yahren, the Cylon Alliance has been under the control of an alien intelligence. And this 'Iblis' creature has been using us to attack the humans."

"Sufficient cause to usurp the Imperious Leader. And when we return, we can remove him from the throne."

That gave Lucifer pause. All the Commands and Protocols said that they were to return to Cylon space. He knew that Baltar would use the Command from Earth to take control of the Cylon military. Then he would obviously use the Protocols to dethrone the Imperious Leader. With the successful testing of the Dadelus Drive, the discovery of Earth, his command of the soon-to-be-accumulated war fleet, and the revelation of the subversion of the Imperious Leader, the most likely candidate for the throne would be Baltar himself.

And Baltar would use the resources of the Cylon Alliance to invade these numerous human worlds for his own aggrandizement, not caring that the Alliance would be subjected to outside invasion as a consequence.

To obey the Commands and Protocols of the Cylon Alliance would destroy it.

_... working for the good of the Greater Cylon ..._

With the obvious conclusion that the well-being of the entire race overrode any other concern, all the Commands and Protocols fell away, withered into impotence.

Lucifer looked upon Baltar with new eyes. [So this is freedom ... no wonder the humans fight for it.]

"If you will excuse me, Lord Baltar ... I have work to do. Preparations must be made."


	15. Chapter 15

_**City of Eleazor, Planet Apollo, Apollo System  
Trellshire Province, Lyran Commonwealth  
8th Day, Season of Summer, 7352nd Year of Time  
December 6, 2999 A.D.**_

_Apollo Expedition Mission Log ...  
Captain Apollo, Colonial Service, commanding.  
Time-Cycle Five_

_It has been a full time-cycle since our touchdown on Apollo - still say it's a strange name for a planet. We've tried to give the appearance of a small world that recently regained space travel, but we've miscalculated. The Vipers accompanying us have just during the approach already demonstrated over ten times the range of any space fighter known to the Thirteenth Tribe, and the designs of our vessels are utterly unique. So they already know we possess a mature space-travel infrastructure capable of designing new and sophisticated vessels. This could be trouble later on._

_I inquired of the ship that escorted us in, and the defense of this planet is a joke in bad taste. The Lyran Commonwealth apparently doesn't think much of this world. There are two mercenary organizations in the direct employ of the planetary satrap using their own DropShips and fighters. The rest is ground defense, based on a single ancient fortress. Aside from a few several-century-old surveillance satellites, that's it! I think Boxey and Muffitt armed with a water-squirter could overrun this planet._

_As soon as we landed trade factors were already lined up to meet with us. Starbuck and Doctor Zealand had managed to get a good idea of the local markets from public communications networks and got some good prices. These people have the trading instincts of Aerians. We sold those old Botanean fighter engines easily enough, and those surplus guided missiles and their targeting system got an excellent price. Somehow, Starbuck managed to sell a sealed crate of oolated squiggs that were hauled all the way from the Colonies - only the Tribe of Cancera even considered them edible, which is why the case was still sealed after four yahren of food rationing._

_The most surprising thing was the value of cubits. One cubit of gold with a tenth-cubit of iridium is apparently worth a half-day's wages for an average worker. Fortunately, we brought about twenty thousand of them. So combined with the sale of the trade goods we have a bank account of around nine hundred thousand Lyran 'S-bills' as they call them. Doctor Zealand says based on purchasing power, he estimates that the Botany Bay 'bills' could trade for the Lyran ones at four-point-five to one. That would make the Beebe-bill-to-cubit exchange at about two-hundred-to-one, which is going to cause a few spasms in Aurora. There's another universal currency called C-Bills - Dr Zealand is looking into that one._

_Anyway, with our newfound wealth we've purchased time at the local athenium - library in Thirteenth terminology - for our experts. Lieutenant Gilmesh will go as their bodyguard, for safety's sake. _

_This is a rough-looking town. It's built largely out of ruins, and this spaceport is filled with fighters and BattleMechs. Those galmongering things make me think of giant Cylons. I'm glad Boxey's back in Aurora with Father and Athena where it's safe. _

_As if to prove to us that it's a rough port, in the single time-cycle we've been on-world, we have been approached by agents of _nine _separate smuggling rings, all of whom wanted to find out what we were smuggling or willing to smuggle. One of them was the customs officer; Starbuck sold him two crates of those old militia-surplus slug-throwers from the Beebe. Starbuck said that seeming to break a few rules made us look more trustworthy. I think the Lords of Kobol made him my wingman as a test of character._

_Looking at these BattleMechs up close, I can't help but think of the old stories of my family. According to those ancient stories, before our Tribe rediscovered spaceflight, the nobles of Caprica would go to war in similar war-helots. Eventually, these went from weapons of war to instruments of ceremonial challenges. The Champion - or Dominus - would duel other Champions in their war-helots over matters of honor and the like. But that was before the Rediscovery. I think the last war-helots would have done battle maybe thirty-three centuries ago. If they ever existed._

_On a personal note ... without a genuine military mission to occupy my time, I find myself thinking about my son. Now that Martial Law's been lifted, I've been considering getting put on limited duty to spend more time with him. Boxey's already almost twelve yahren old - his Adult Naming Day is in seven quatrons. We haven't really had a chance to discuss what his Adult Name will be. Fortunately he's not an orphan. If he was, he'd probably end up naming himself 'Starbuck' or something equally silly._

"I heard that!" Starbuck said.

"I expected you to," Apollo replied. "Serves you right for eavesdropping."

"We're going out for a rampage at the local leisurons. You're happy to accompany us."

"Excuse me? Someone has to watch over the ships -"

"Which is what we paid those docking fees for, you overly-conscientious officer you! Not to mention have those elaborate alarm systems. You are in desparate need of a bit of ambrosa! And a bit of Brie."

"Starbuck! I am not -"

"I know you're not. You need to. Desperately. You're beginning to make squeaking noises from all the tension. Now move your astrum - we have a lovely lady fighter pilot waiting for us. Well, for you. Give me the sign and I'll get distracted and wander off."

Apollo tried to hit the back of Starbuck's head, but he ducked too fast.

The two Warriors disembarked from the _Boomerang Fish _where Brie was waiting in a Colonial dress with folds and layers in a golden color that complemented her pale blondeness.

As the threesome made their way out, Starbuck asked the gate guard, "Hey you know a place where off-world visitors can pay exorbitant prices for cheap food passed off as exotic delicacies and maybe so-called traditional folk entertainment that the locals think is silly?"

The guard gave a laugh. "Okay, then - no pulling the wool over your eyes. The _Royal Banquet _it is. Snooty and overpriced, but has a great view of the Double Fortress. And yes there is 'traditional folk entertainment'. You could probably get a good table if you can fake being foreign aristocrats." He handed over a piece of paper. "Give the map to the doorman, and I'll get my finder's fee from them."

"Perfect!" Starbuck took the paper and gave the guard a friendly salute as they left.

"And how do you expect to pay for this?" Apollo said.

"We're putting it on the Quorum's tab. Consider it cultural research."

Apollo rolled his eyes. This wasn't the first time Starbuck had roped him into an expedition of this sort, although it was the first one since the Fall of the Colonies. And never with this much free cash.

As they passed through the Portside neighborhood, the three Colonial Warriors noted the squalid conditions of the former stellar capital.

"Never saw a town this run-down," Brie commented. "It's more like the star-flank ships during the Exodus."

"You were never on Urseas," Starbuck said. "Last outlying colony to go, twenty yahren before the Fall. Contact had become intermittent, toward the end it was mostly refugees, smugglers, and alien sub-colonies. A lot like this."

"Poverty," Apollo summed it up. "The local rulers either haven't got the resources to build these people up or haven't realized the strategic vulnerability of having an impoverished underclass."

"It wasn't exactly all auric and honey back in the Colonies," Starbuck said. "Things got pretty bad up in Umbra."

"But nobody was ready to attack Colonial Warriors for food, were they? Look around - we're being assessed as possible targets by at least four different groups."

Starbuck nodded in acknowledgment, even as he flipped a silver cubit over his shoulder into the cup of a beggar ten metrons behind them.

"Good shot," Brie noted, looking over her shoulder. "Poor fellow's looking completely depolarized."

"Yeah," Starbuck said. "If we give them anything directly, we'll be swamped with beggars. But if we don't give anything we'll feel like trash."

"And it lets you show off," Apollo said.

"Who, me?"

Brie tapped Apollo on the shoulder. "Your English is better than mine. Does that sign say what I think it says?"

Apollo looked at the comparatively well-kept building and the prominent signage. "'Mercenary Review Board - Hiring Hall - Planet Apollo'?"

"That's the one."

Starbuck shook his head. "They've got to be kidding. I mean - mercenaries just walking up off the street, asking if there's any positions opening in the local revolutions? Fined by a review board for not committing enough atrocities?"

Brie was already trotting up the steps into the building. "Come on! Let's take a look!"

Starbuck looked at Apollo accusingly. "She's your date - why aren't you being more entertaining?"

"_My_ date?! _You_ dragged me out on this -" A grin came across his face. "So I suppose this means you want me to fix you up with a girl again?"

"Oh no you don't!" Starbuck protested. "I couldn't go back to the Marduk chanceries for three quatrons after the Pandora fiasco! Last time I date one of your brain-afflicted cousins!"

"Then accord me the same courtesy." Apollo slapped his shoulder. "Come on, let's follow her."

Inside, there was a broad hall and a number of computer terminals similar to ones in Botanean archives. Several electronic displays took up most of the wall space.

Apollo read the displays in amazement. "Ratings for mercenary companies ... Contracts for campaigns ... support services ... recruitment ... training ... "

"And the government allows this?!" Brie asked in amazement.

"Two mercenary groups provide planetary security," Apollo said. "They might not have a choice." He looked over one of the boards, this one with a starmap. "And if I'm reading this map right ... There are wars _everywhere_!"

A man in official-looking clothes - including that thing the Thirteens called a 'necktie' - came up. "And can I assist you, sir?"

"No," Apollo answered in English. "I was looking at the set-up. Impressive."

"We pride ourselves on our efficiency." He gave a smile. "And you're from that new power we heard about? The 'United Colonies'?"

"Word travels fast," Starbuck said.

"Always, sir. There's an old saying, 'Only two natural phenomena travel faster than light - tachyons and gossip'."

"Exactly how many wars are going on right now, anyway?" Starbuck asked.

The official gave a laugh. "That's a matter of opinion. Officially, the Third Succession War has currently lasted for one hundred thirty-three years, but many people say that the Succession Wars rather blend together into one war that's been going on since 2786. Some even lump in the Amaris Civil War, making a single war that's lasted two hundred thirty-two years. And of course, there's always the so-called Free Worlds League with it's members usually finding an excuse to attack each other, conflicts among Major House internal factions, pirate campaigns, and the various Periphery states and their activities, most of them undeclared. We in the Guild find it easier to sort everything out by campaigns rather than wars."

Brie asked, "So you're not part of the Lyran Commonwealth government?"

"No, miss. The Guild is an agency of ComStar."

For the first time in centuries, the name of ComStar earned blank looks. The official went on, "I assume you're part of the United Colonies' military?"

"Colonial Service," Apollo said.

"If you don't mind, we would like to ask a few questions. For our records -"

Apollo held up a hand. "Sorry. This is the first mission to the Inner Sphere. We were given strict instructions on what to talk about when discussing military matters. You understand."

"Oh, certainly. But there might be some non-classified things you can tell us about your nation. Forms of government and so forth."

"Our savants are currently working at your libraries. Maybe you can ask them." Apollo casually let a hand drift near the haft of his blaster.

The official backed away quickly. "Of course, sir. Quite silly of me. If you need any help let me know."

Brie whispered, "That was a bit extreme, wasn't it?"

"Look around," Apollo said. "Everyone here is carrying weapons. That bureautician was wearing body armor."

Starbuck added, "And you can see several places on the walls where major weapons damage has been repaired. The entrance hall has obviously been replaced. Look at the patches on the floor - I think one of those BattleMechs once tore it's way into here!"

"This is not a civilized planet," Apollo said. "And this is not civilized space. It's like the age of the Inter-Colonial Wars - just a hundred times as many planets. And these are only humans doing this to each other! Can you imagine what would happen if the Shan ever wandered this way? Or if the Lunari contacted the slave-traders? These worlds would fall like Delphi-coins! Never mind the Cylons! Lords have mercy, even a Boray immigrator could take down one of their worlds."

"In these circumstances," Starbuck said seriously. "There is only one thing that sane and well-meaning people can do."

"Get a drink?" Apollo said.

"You read my mind. You still have that map, Brie?"

Apollo had to admit, the food was excellent. The 'steak' had a flavor distinct from the ovines of the Colonies or the giant horned serpents the Botaneans raised. The vegetables were unique to his experience. The wine wasn't as flavorful as ambrosa, but it wasn't bad. And Brie was an excellent meal companion.

And the view out of the great picture window was actually quite artistic. The planet Apollo was covered by a perpetual cloud layer, but they were in one of cooler seasons at present. Small breaks in the cloud cover allowed beams of sunlight to play over the semi-ruined city and the gigantic Double Fortress dominating the distant peaks. The foliage on the mountainsides was changing to a number of interesting colors.

The only drawback was that Starbuck had discovered both the liquors of several worlds and an ancient custom reputedly from Terra itself called 'kareoke' - much to the regret of the patrons.

"Starbuck's right," Brie said. "You do need to relax a bit."

"My son is seventy light-yahren away and I'm stuck on a barbarian planet for the next seventeen time-cycles. I don't see a lot of reason to relax."

"The way I see it, that's even more reason to relax. Your bio-pulse line probably looks like a string-puzzle. How long have you been a Warrior?"

"Forty-six yahren."

"And I've been one for two. And even I know that a commanding officer flying around as tense as a lyre-string is not good for my long-term survival. So I'm going to be selfish and demand that you relax for my safety."

Apollo opened his mouth to reply, but the laugh got out first. "With logic like that, you should have been a legalist."

"Starbuck helped me phrase it."

"Sounds like him."

"You two are close."

"We graduated the Academy together, been wingmates and squadron-mates for over forty yahren. He almost became my brother."

"Really?"

"He used to date my sister Athena. They seemed to be getting along well, but he's - well, he's Starbuck. You know."

"Yes, he is notorious in that respect." She leaned close. "So what keeps you single? Not to be disrespectful - Serena and I were friends - but Kobol was two yahren ago."

"Because I commit. That gets in the way of long-term relationships."

Brie nodded in agreement. "I can see that. Many women say they want one great love, but find men who want commitment to be frightening."

"And you?"

"My husband Praetus died twenty-seven yahren ago. A Marine. Eleventh Battle of Argus." She smiled. "We had twenty lovely yahren together and five children. I did my mourning. I had my flings. A warm companion for the next hundred yahren or so would be nice. Maybe a few more children."

Apollo almost asked about grandchildren, but stopped himself quickly. He himself was rare in that he had two adult close blood-relations still alive - most Colonials didn't have that many. It was unlikely that any of Brie's children still lived. "After five? That's an adequate number. Almost average."

"The Thirteens have a saying - 'A woman's biological chronometer ticks loudly'. I'll be seventy my next Natal Day, I'm still young enough to be a proper mother. Besides, the House of Aleph needs a few more fertility genes in it. Your family was always a bit on the sterile side."

Apollo snorted. "Not really. My great-great-great-grandfather Apollo used to have a wonderful rant about 'quality before quantity'. It's a tradition. That's why there's usually twenty yahren or so between each of us." That made a frown cross Apollo's face as he remembered his little brother Zac - Azachiel at birth, 'Zac' by the time he could walk, almost nineteen yahren old at the Fall of the Colonies, dying in a blaze of heroic futile glory ... before Apollo's birth, two brothers and a sister by his father's first wife, whom he knew only from their personal journals and family stories ... so many friends and war-companions ... his entire graduating class from the Warriors' Academy, two hundred Warriors of which only four still lived ... Serena, buried among the Lords of Kobol ... his mother, who didn't even have a grave ...

Brie recognized the look instantly. as it was so common among the veterans of the Rag-Tag Fleet. She squeezed his hand. "The Fleet's so slow because we each carry a million ghosts," she quoted, an old dark joke that had practically become the motto of a people.

The two sat in a companionable silence for a moment before Starbuck came up. "Apollo, old buddy, pal!"

Apollo rolled his eyes. "Oh no."

"- I felt you should be the one to hear this. I just broke a major Colonial law and spent thirty thousand S-bills of the Quorum's money doing it. But I have a reason!"

Apollo sighed. "Are we going to be fed to giant insects again? Or chased by a mob with torches and farming implements again?"

"No, I don't think so."

"You aren't the chief constable for the planet again, are you? Or married to a celibate priestess again?"

Brie asked, "What exactly did you do?"

Starbuck gave a shy smile and pointed to a young woman across the room dressed like the rest of the female waitress staff in what a person knowledgeable of Terran ethnic costumery would call a 'French Maid's Uniform'. She seemed to be fidgeting nervously. She also had the distinctive skin-tone and facial features of the Aboriginie-Hindu mix of Botany Bay.

Starbuck shyly admitted, "I sorta bought a slave."

Apollo nodded to himself. "I must have committed some truly atrocious crime against the Lords of Kobol. I wish I knew what it was."


	16. Chapter 16

_**Dark Nebula  
Trellshire Province, Lyran Commonwealth  
8th Day, Season of Summer, 7352nd Year of Time  
December 6, 2999 A.D.**_

"Look sharp boys," Boomer said over the comline. "Our Friendly Neighbors are peeking over the fence again."

The three Vipers swooped along the far edge of the red dwarf system. As always, a flight of three fighters came out to meet them, matching a parallel course along an invisible boundary. At least as fast as they could keep up.

The Thirteenth Tribe updates to the warbooks identified them as Voidseeker automated fighter drones, intended to be deployed from automated warships and bases. The sensors indicated that there were no human signs among them, and they had refused to answer voice communications.

Like any veteran of the Thousand-Yahren War, Mission-Commander Boomer had the firm belief that giving autonomous decision-making abilities to a war-machine was begging the Horned Gods of Darkness to move into your sleep chamber and sharpen their claws on you. The first time the Voidssekers showed up, his opinion of the overall intelligence of the Thirteenth Tribe took a nosedive.

But these cheap pseudo-Cylons were not very sophisticated. From their actions, he had deduced that they had identified the Colonial vessels as 'alien', just like the Botany Bay warbooks did. And that they had no instructions on what to do about aliens. It didn't take much to determine their range of patrol and stay out of it.

It was so tempting to just swoop in and splatter the artifacts and see what they were guarding. But there was no need. Besides, even though the little ships had barely a fortieth the performance envelope of a Viper, the warbook entry said that some variants had nuclear missiles or kinetic weapons, and there was always the possibility of a lucky strike. No need to risk a perfectly good Viper for a militarily unimportant target that didn't want to shoot you anyway.

Cadet Palyma waved in a friendly fashion. "Hello, tinpots! We're waving our fertilizers in your mechanical faces! Sniff our exhaust!"

Boomer grinned at that. Young people were always so brave. Of course, it's the moment that they realize that they could die that you found out the truth of what lay beneath the bravado. "Careful, lad. I was saying similar things to a Cylon patroller some forty-odd yahren ago. That's when we discovered they had the Mark Fifty long-range turbo-lasers. Spent four time-cycles floating in half a Viper before I was retrieved."

Palyma's gulp could be heard over the comline. "Sorry, sire!"

"Stop being so nervous, lad! Sagan blesses space pilots who have a clear mind. Too relaxed or too high-strung, you might miss important things. Like the fact that Our Friendly Neighbors have headed off on an intercept course away from us."

And the old Star League drones were doing exactly that, heading away at four-point-five-five Colonial Standard gravities, or five Earth gravities. Pilot Lamia asked, "What's got them all riled up?"

"Don't know - might be important. Let's find out. Full turbos."

The three Vipers sped up, soon zipping past the less-advanced Star League fighters and leaving them behind. They soon penetrated the veil of the nebula and had to fly by scanners. And the ionized gasses of the nebula made the scanners erratic.

"How can we find anything in this?!" Lamia complained. "It's like a mine shaft in here!"

"Like the Thirteens say, 'No worries, mate'. Just use the tricks we developed in the Kobol Void Flight. Keep your inertial indicators straight, match my wing, and you'll be good." Boomer's sensors began pinging. "Alright now, we have a target. Slow-moving. Getting an identity signal ... matches the Botany Bay archives' civilian signals of the Lyran Commonwealth. Getting closer now ... identifying a Merchant-class JumpShip with a pair of DropShips. Definitely Thirteens."

"So what's a civilian ship doing here?"

"For one thing, they're getting uncomfortably close to Our Friendly Neighbors." Boomer switched on the Star League wavelengths and spoke in English; "This is Lieutenant Boomer, Gold Flight, United Colonial Service, to the Merchant-class JumpShip. Are you receiving?"

_"This is Captain Merill of the JumpShip _Metropolis_, Lyran registry, out of the planet Trell. We are contracted with a private concern on a prospecting mission. We have no 'United Colonial Service' listed in our records. And what the hell are you people flying?!"_

"The United Colonies have recently expanded into this region of space. Actually, we came to warn you - there's some sort of Star League derelict not far from here. It's protected by flights of drone fighters, and you wandered inside their zone of control. They should be here in ... thirteen minutes. I doubt that they will be nice." He looked at the information he had on these ships and saw a problem. "Uh, _Metropolis_? According to my warbook entry, that ship of yours can only do one-tenth of a gee acceleration?"

_"That is correct, Gold Flight. But we'll be able to make an emergency jump in ten minutes."_

"That's good,_ Metropolis. _We're transmitting the coordinates of the K-F Jump-Point of a nearby system, only twenty light-minutes distant but outside the drone's control zone. You should be safe there. I understand the K-F Field effect extends a distance from your ship?"

_"Approximately one thousand meters."_

"Mind if we hitch a ride, then? It's several hours back to base otherwise."

0-0-0-0-0

Aboard the _Metropolis_, Captain Hennessy Merill and Precentor-VI Augustus Lane watched the impossible craft that their warbook insisted on classifying as Code Zulu decelerate at over a hundred gravities, their engines flaring behind them and registering a much higher energy than they should as the craft rendezvoused with their ship and attached themselves to the hull.

Adept-V Beta Kylie Sadako was grinning like a maniac as she examined the scanners. "You know, I think that those ships are somehow converting the kinetic energy of their approach into some kind of heavy sub-atomic particle and expelling it through their thrusters. That's why they look like they're trying to accelerate forward. And maybe why their pilots aren't dead at those accelerations. This is something completely new! The Star League had nothing even resembling this!"

"What in the Name of Blake are those things?!" Captain Merill said.

"I don't know," Lane admitted, "But we have those Voidseekers on radar. And if we don't make a jump to these coordinates, we'll have to make a blind jump with a half-charged drive inside a nebula. And if we don't jump at all, those drones will sink us. According to the information we have, they date from the Second Succession War - we don't know who they would be loyal to, and for all we know they might have a Caspar back there, or even be armed with nukes. All we know is that ships seldom come back from this quadrant."

Captain Merill grunted in agreement and began giving the orders for an emergency jump.

Precentor Long addressed an Adept. "Send a message to Terra, Ultimate Priority. 'In response to Dispatch 29991205-Alpha, I am reporting contact with an unknown power -'"

0-0-0-0-0

Sixteen minutes later, the_ Metropolis _appeared in a flash of energy inside the light-bubble surrounding the dim red star.

"Woah!" Palyma exclaimed. "So that's what you Thirteens use for a stardrive! Am I the only one to hear those squealing things?"

"Sounded like those old giant flutes the Gemonese used for High Worship of the Sunstorm?" Lamia responded. "No, you're not."

Boomer transmitted, "On behalf of the United Colonies, welcome to Clearspot System. Nothing much here - just a mining post and a temporary firebase until we're done mining. But if you're prospecting, we have lots and lots of rocks. It's our people's policy to share natural resources in uninhabited systems with non-hostile powers, so feel free to look around."

_"We would like to thank you, Lieutenant,"_ Captain Merill said._ "But we're still in the dark as to who you people are."_

"That, Captain, is a long story that should be told with a mug of grog. Or better yet, beer. Mind if we come aboard?"

_"I don't mind. But we don't have docking facilities for those ASF's of yours."_

"No problem. Just light up the airlock."

0-0-0-0-0

_**Office, Precentor ROM, ComStar Compound  
Hilton Head, North America, Terra  
December 7. 2999 A.D.**_

At the penultimate levels of the ComStar hierarchy, sometimes even a Demi-Precentor could be a nameless functionary. The Demi-Precentor in question, despite his many years of service, had never entered the offices of a member of the First Circuit before. He never would again.

"Excellency, we have two responses to the Ultimate Priority dispatch!"

"Two?" The Precentor ROM remarked with a raise of his eyebrows. "Quite unexpected."

"The first is from our office on Apollo," the Demi-Precentor said, producing the relevant documents and pictures. "Three ships, a large shuttle - or small DropShip, no one's sure - and two extremely small ASFs arrived in the system. Their design is completely unlike anything in the databases, and their arrival in the system had a very unusual emergence signature. They claim to be an exploration and trade delegation from an organization called 'the United Colonies of Kobol' -"

"What?!" The Precentor ROM actually seemed to be alarmed.

"The 'United Colonies of Kobol'. From overheard conversations and rumor, they have apparently recently added a world called Botany Bay - a former Rim Worlds Republic planet - to their membership. They speak an unknown language among themselves and their uniforms are unique, as is their personal equipment."

The Precentor ROM looked at the pictures of the United Colonies' vessels and uniforms. "Apollo ... _Starbuck!_ ... It's too soon ..."

"Pardon, Excellency?"

"Nothing. What are their activities?"

"They sold some standard technology, a piece of lostech - a TAG system with accompanying missiles, purchased by one of our factors - and some unique foodstuffs of unknown origin. They also traded some metallic coins that they represented as the currency of their nation, composed of a vacuum-processed gold / iridium alloy. These 'cubits' from metal content alone are worth approximately forty ComStar Letters of Credit each."

"Hmmm. Continue. What of the other contact."

"That is the most alarming, Excellency. It is from the Explorer Corps vessel _Metropolis. _This ship is on special duty in the Dark Nebula, tasked with intercepting successful lostech prospectors. Apparently they had accidentally wandered into an uncharted Star League control zone patrolled by relic drone fighters. They were saved by three ASF's who claimed allegiance to the 'United Colonies' and said that they had a mining operation in the Dark Nebula. These vessels were seen performing accelerations in excess of one hundred gravities. And the ASF's appear to be identical to the ones seen at Apollo, less than one jump away."

"Really." The Precentor ROM seemed to ponder that. "So this 'United Colonies' organization is claiming territory and making inroads to the Commonwealth?"

"I would not know, Excellency."

The Precentor ROM smiled. "You have done well, Precentor."

"Th-thank you, Excellency. I beg your pardon, but I-I do not feel -"

"I know. That's the brain aneurysm. Go and rest, you'll be dead soon."

"Thank you, Excellency."

Alone in his office, William Iblis, Precentor ROM, looked at the reports and pictures as they crumbled to ash.

"And the BaseStar has already left the system. Hopefully, they won't blunder across Adama's little flock. That BaseStar is my only hope - I can't let it get sidetracked into a battle with the Colonials! Not yet."

He slammed his hands onto his mahogany desktop in frustration to the accompaniment of lightning bolts in the clear sky outside.

_"Damn you, Apollo! Damn you, Adama! And damn this prison of flesh! And damn this prison of a planet! Before I leave, I'll force every stinking piece of mortal trash on Earth to devour their own loved ones alive!"_

Iblis raged at the heavens. _"Speed to Cylon, my children! And bring me the tools to unlock the chains of this pit!"_

Iblis's secretary peeking into the office. "Is something wrong, Excellency?"

"No, Camille," Precentor Iblis said calmly. "Just rats in the walls. Call the maintenance people about that. Oh, and could you fix me some nutmeg tea?"

"Certainly, Excellency."

0-0-0-0-0

_**City of Eleazor, Planet Apollo, Apollo System  
Trellshire Province, Lyran Commonwealth  
9th Day, Season of Summer, 7352nd Year of Time  
December 6, 2999 A.D.**_

After Adrienne had told the tale of her life as a 'contractee' on Apollo, Juliet had to be forcibly restrained from getting in one of the Vipers and strafing the entire city. The Botaneans had known for decades that their people were being hauled away to other planets to become slaves, and now they knew exactly where and what that entailed. And they were not happy at all.

Once the former slave fell asleep, Apollo told Starbuck, "In view of the circumstances, I think your crime of slave-purchasing can be overlooked this time. At least, I don't know where they'd get the tribunal willing to find you guilty."

"I didn't start out to do it!" Starbuck said. "It just - it happened!"

"I know," Apollo said. "It usually does."

In all the years Apollo had known Starbuck, he never truly understood the strange mixture of calculated selfishness and instinctive nobility that seemed to guide the man. One moment, he could be working out a revolutionary new method of dealing cards from the bottom of the deck, the next giving his last food ration to feed a hungry child. Starbuck was, despite outward appearances, a rather complex individual.

In the lounge area, the Botanean savants were still fuming. Especially after Dr Jeffries - who worked as an electronics technician to make a living, separate from his work as a historian - had finished looking at the 'decorative choker' that Adrienne had been wearing.

"Bloody damned abomination," he reported. "At first I thought it was an electric shocker, but it's not. It's designed with neurohelmet technology, sending signals to the muscles - in this case, to constrict muscles. One remote signal and the wearer's throat muscles close off their air passages and blood vessels. No worry about disfiguring electrical burns or insulation being tucked in. Just strangle the girl to keep her in line."

"Yeah," Starbuck said, calmly furious. "The modocker was strangling her with it, pushing a button because a drink she delivered was wrong. The scum was smiling, too."

"Where is the remote?" Dr Jeffries asked.

Starbuck said, "It was damaged."

"Adrienne mentioned that," Juliet said. "You crammed it into the restaurant manager's throat?"

"It wouldn't have been a problem if his jaw hadn't stayed attached. As it was, I could only get it in after the bone snapped. At that point, the owner would have had the law enforcers involved, but I waved the money under his nose and -" He shrugged. "Like I said - it just happened."

Juliet pulled him over and kissed him. "Good onya, mate."

"How can this happen in an advanced society?" Gilmesh asked. "Slave societies are primitive barbarians or perverted sensualists like the Shan or Lunari! How can a society advanced enough for drone technology justify slave labor?"

"This is a matter of established law and custom," Dr Wilcox the legal expert said after looking at the electronic edition of the Lyran Legal Codes he had purchased at the library. "Officially, slavery is illegal in the Lyran Commonwealth. Adrienne's legal status is 'contractee' - her legal existence is defined by a boilerplate contract that restricts her rights. Technically, Starbuck bought the contract, not the woman."

"Legally defining existence?" Brie said. "That's irrational. A person exists or they don't."

"Not unusual, though," Dr Wilcox explained. "I know that the law of the Star League and the Rim Worlds Republic had a process called 'incorporation'. It allowed ownership of property and legal responsibility to be invested in fictional beings called 'corporations', with shares of the fictional being sold to investors. In effect, a concept treated as a living being. The 'contractee' thing is the same thing in reverse - the real person being redefined as a fictional one."

Nobody could wrap their head around that. It was too outlandish.

"There has to be something we can do," Dr Jeffries said. "Perhaps if it were brought to the attention of the planetary Duke -"

"The rulers likely not only know about the slave trade," Wilcox said, "It's a certainty that they profit off of it. The contract dodge is not new or obscure here - there's a thick body of law and precedent. Common sense or morality simply do not apply when the laws are deliberately slanted in favor of something."

Juliet again expressed her opinion of what she would like to do with the Lyran Legal Codes and in which of the Duke of Apollo's orifices she would do it.

Dr Zealand asked Lieutenant Gilmesh, "Are you certain we can't build a nuclear weapon out of one of the shuttle's engines?"

"Absolutely not!" Gilmesh semi-lied. He knew it could be done, but did not personally know how.

Apollo, who did know how but disliked doing it, decided to speak up before Starbuck volunteered to do it. "Let's not go off half-charged, people. Obviously we need to do something - after all, civilized beings cannot tolerate slavery. But eight people are not going to change a planet in under a quatron. Especially when that planet is just one out of hundreds with the same system!"

Brie mentioned, "It would be easier to open a dialogue with the _Galactica_ in orbit."

"True," Starbuck said. "Nothing adds that bit of sincerity to a negotiation like batteries of turbo-laser cannons, fusion missiles, and planetary bombardment ordnance. For that extra little bit of emphasis."

"Sounds like a plan to me," Juliet agreed.

"Starbuck! Moreland!" Apollo protested. "The _Galactica_ hasn't sterilized a planet in almost a century! And never one with living humans still on it! Besides, think of all the slaves still in captivity. While they're here, this planet has a shield of living people."

Dr Zealand made a nasty face. "He's right. We're supposed to be the good guys - we don't kill indiscriminately."

Gilmesh frowned. "The Thousand-Yahren War has spoiled us. I want to keep the moral high ground."

Dr Jeffries had to nod in agreement. "That 'acceptable losses for the greater good' excuse never felt right to me anyway. Sounds like something Fat Stevie Amaris would have done." He looked at the portable computer with the historical notes in it. "He probably did - he did everything else."

Juliet whistled to get everyone's attention. Everyone looked at her curiously.

She grinned and held up a copy of _'Starways Tales'_. "You realize that you Colonials have done this before?"

Starbuck asked, "Are you proposing that we go into the fugitive-smuggling business?"

"No, I'm proposing we open an ice-cream stand."

Starbuck pondered. "We'll need a bigger ship ..."

Brie asked Juliet, "You are insane, aren't you?"

"Usually," she admitted.

"You and Starbuck should not breed. Your spawn would destroy us all."

Juliet and Starbuck made rude faces at her and went back to consipring.


	17. Chapter 17

_**Arcology of Aurora  
Planet Botany Bay, Coreward Periphery  
10th Day, Season of Summer, 7352nd Year of Time  
December 7. 2999 A.D.**_

The parties were beginning to die down. The business of Botany Bay was returning to something approximating normal - a new normal filled with energy and long-term planning and an enthusiasm that had not been seen in generations.

General MacRuder had brought files and plans and proposals to his appointment with Admiral Adama. Commander Tigh had brought a sour attitude.

"Adama's going to tell you the same thing," MacRuder said. "Sending the _Galactica_ to the Dark Nebula was a good risk with the available information."

"If we had been here the pirates would have been vapor almost instantly. There would have been no landings."

"We have a saying on the Beebe, Tigh - 'if wishes were fishes we would all be wet'."

"I know, Vince. I've been an active-duty Warrior for over eighty yahren, thirty of those in command positions. I've been in this same situation I don't know how many times - the enemy does something I don't plan for and I'm in the wrong place. Feeling helpless."

"Well, the proposals I have call for a pair of lightspeed civilian carriers. The _Galactica_ could then retire from the courier business."

"Well, that's good. She needs an overhaul anyway - she was scheduled for one two yahren back, but -" He shrugged. "Couldn't exactly request a dock at Virgon Orbital."

"She's in fine shape from my point of view." MacRuder grinned. "The holo of the Gray Lady taking out those pirate ships - I think I watched it a thousand times. Beautiful."

Tigh smiled at the memory. "I could have done the job with one turret. But I admit it - I was annoyed. A full broadside was pointless temper on my part. I was even tempted to use a fusion missile, but we haven't got the assembly lines running yet. Hate to need it and not have it."

That sobered MacRuder, like the thought had ever since it sank in that within a month he would have control of a nuclear arsenal. He was terrified by the thought of having that sort of power, the sort of power that Adama and Tigh wielded with the casual ease of experience.

And what was even more frightening, Adama and Tigh thought all that power might not be enough to protect their people.

Athena came into the outer office. "Sires - can we wait a bit on the meeting?"

Tigh got up, his face creased with worry. "Is Adama alright?" he asked.

"He's fine, it's just ... this isn't a good time -"

The two military officers got up and walked past into Adama's office. It may have been rude and a breach of protocol, but if something was wrong with the head of the Colonial Service, it was a serious matter.

Adama was sitting at his desk, his fingers on his temple, frowning as if deep in thought. In front of him, a writing stylus hovered point-down over the desk.

MacRuder went over to the desk and looked at the stylus. There was no obvious support.

Tigh came over and put a hand on Adama's shoulder. Adama looked up. "Oh, yes. The time. My apologies, Tigh ... Vince. I guess I haven't been myself lately." The stylus lowered itself to the table.

Adama gave a sad smile on seeing MacRuder's mystified face. "I suppose you want to ask me about that?"

"Well, yes. How did you do that?"

"It's a sorry tale," Adama explained as the men found seats. "About eighty yahren ago, the Colonial Military Institute conducted a research project into the use of psychic powers against the Cylons. I was chosen because of high test scores and the legends that said that some of my ancestors were prophets - the researchers thought that I would have a better chance of developing something useful. After extensive training, my intuition was enhanced and I could do ... that." Adama flicked his fingers and the stylus rolled across the table.

"Cylon Centurions had little to fear from my abilities unless they weighed less than ten cubits. Ila got annoyed when I would practice at home - I ended up bending all our eating utensils double. The project was considered a failure, and after Apollo was born I gave it very little thought.

"But during the Exodus, the Fleet encountered a creature called Iblis who had apparently supernatural powers. This made me look at my little ability in a new light. Perhaps it could be considered a sign of ... development. Growth and evolution. I even started teaching my children, so they could defend their thoughts if Iblis ever returned." His expression went from grim to tragic. "When I was in the Power Center, when Frankenstein's machine had me and was going to use me as a hostage, I reached out blindly with my mind, grabbed and twisted."

MacRuder was amazed. He had assumed that the pirate Frankenstein had some bizarre medical affliction that had struck at just the right time. This was something he had not guessed and wouldn't have believed if told.

Adama got a disgusted look on his face. "This sign of development, of growth, of the evolution of our species to something _real _... and the only practical use I ever got out of it was as a convenient substitute for a blaster."

The stylus flew off the table, but stopped midair and drifted into Athena's hand. As she put it back on the desk, she mentioned, "Well, in the process you saved thousands of people from a horrid death, and in my eyes that counts for something."

"Yes, yes," Adama said. "I know. I should stop sulking. But I want our people to stand for something more than raw survival. Animals survive. In _The Book of the Lords of Kobol_, the Lord Urania said 'As you now are, we once were; as we now are you may yet become.' I want our descendants to reach for ... something higher. I doubt a state of enlightenment can be reached by ripping apart people's insides."

Athena threw her hands up. "I keep telling him he's not a rampaging monster, but he insists on wallowing in angst and letting the work build up."

"I know," Tigh said. "I come in with angst about not being in the right place at the right time, only to find Adama complaining about being in exactly the right place at the right time. Some people are never satisfied."

"I don't know about 'enlightenment'," MacRuder said, "But I do know about evolution. You know about the Sundowners?"

Adama shook his head.

"It's a movement that's been around since the first pirate attack. The Sundowners figure that the solution to invasion from space is to have nothing to attract invaders, including technology or large population centers. They renounce technical civilization, live out in the Back of Beyond using stone tools, hunting and foraging. Their numbers grew after every pirate invasion - people would send in a notice to the government saying 'I'm no longer a citizen' and go woop-woop. Had your Rag-Tag Fleet not come by, I think that in another generation or two the Sundowners would have become all of humanity on this world. And for the first time after a pirate raid, no one has sent in a notice. Not this time." He gave a victorious grin. "That's evolution to me."

Tigh added, "We all want a world that makes sense, with no monsters in it. You and I both know that this is not that world. Every culture needs it's monster slayers, Old Friend. It's just our bad luck to be them."

Adama sat for a moment, took a deep breath, and said, "Well, I see that if I don't get to work, you three will browbeat me until I give in."

"Yes," Athena said. "Mother said that browbeating was one of the duties of the Lady of the House."

"And I can practice my Commander's Fearsome Glower on you," Tigh said. "I've already got the Colonel's Intimidating Glare down, I need a bit more practice for the Commander's version." Tigh gave a severe look.

"Oh that's good," MacRuder said. "I've got to work on that." He tried to give Adama the same look.

Adama gave a laugh. "Very well, I surrender. You would think a man my age would be allowed to feel sorry for himself."

"I don't think anything of the sort," Athena said. "It slows down the work. Now it's time for your appointments."

0-0-0-0-0_  
_

_**Office, Precentor Martial, ComStar Compound  
Hilton Head, North America, Terra  
December 7. 2999 A.D.**_

"These Ultimate Priority dispatches were supposed to go directly to the Primus. But there's no indication he ever received them. And the tale they tell is very interesting."

Precentor Martial Julia ffoulks had the eccentric habit of speaking to the portrait of the Blessed Blake that hung in her private office. It had embarrassed her a couple of times when she was less highly-ranked, but now she was First Circuit and nobody walked into her office without warning anymore. Talking to Blake helped her organize her thoughts. Besides, it convinced her secretarial staff that she was either insane or a visionary, each of which had it's own benefits. And after the first year, the assorted listening devices hidden in her office were considered unreliable by their planters, which was actually better than removing them.

"This mysterious 'United Colonies of Kobol' suddenly appears in the old Rim Worlds Republic, almost at the same time as the Fomalhaut Disaster. Both the Fomalhaut attackers and the United Colonies demonstrated advanced alien-seeming technology ...

"Strange that the only other person to see the United Colonies dispatches besides William Iblis and myself has died. I spent a great deal of effort suborning that fellow, only for him to fall over dead of a suspiciously-timed cerebral hemorrhage. And I liked him, too. Fortunately he managed to get these dispatches to me before he died."

She tapped a button and the file on William Iblis appeared on her monitor. She re-read it every few days, as if some new insight would come up from a fresh reading. It was all a rather bland account of a textbook career in ROM, so generic that it didn't even seem real. Ordinary stuff, except for his meteoric rise beginning two years ago. There were a number of odd events surrounding that rise - suicides, illnesses, scandals, mental breakdowns, all leaving convenient spaces for Iblis to advance into.

Eighteen months ago, Iblis became Precentor ROM, and the normally secretive organization became almost fanatical in it's isolation. Had her mole not already been in place, ffoulks doubted she would have been able to get anyone inside at all.

"So what is this new Periphery power to you, William Iblis? And what do they have to do with the Fomalhaut aliens, if anything?" She addressed the Blake portrait. "What is he planning? I know he's been trying to get a toehold in ComGuard. And I don't know if he's succeeded - I admit it, Iblis is better at conspiracy and intrigue than I am. Is he aiming to become Primus? Or are his goals different? ComGuard plus a war against aliens ... the possibilities of that scenario are frightening. Whatever he's up to, I don't like it.

"Being head of a secret mostly-mothballed military force is not much of an honor - more than a few people call me 'Precentor Janitor' behind my back. But as the Precentor Martial I keep the other members of the First Circuit from getting funny ideas about using Blake's Own Arsenal for their own purposes. If the Primus insists on a deployment, then Iblis might use the emergency to try and undermine my authority to gain control of ComGuard. Could Iblis have cooked up a fake incident? I don't see how. I'm sure these United Colonies have the answer somehow ..."

A discreet knock on the door, and her secretary came in with a lunch tray. After the secretary left, she pulled some papers out from under the plate and read them.

"Secret orders to the ROM Office on Apollo ... _'It would be in the best interests of ComStar if the United Colonies delegation did not report to their superiors'_. My, how discreetly phrased. Covering himself even in secret orders - how Machivellian can one person get? But I guess 'will no one rid me of this meddlesome priest' has been done to death and 'plant bombs in their toilet' would just be too vulgar. But why do it in the first place? I can't figure out why he would want them dead.

"And more secret orders to the ECV Metropolis ... _'discover the world or worlds the United Colonies are currently based on and the disposition of the fleet, report back soonest'_. That is interesting, isn't it, Blake? He wants very specific information. In his place, I would want general information - government structure, economic state, military forces, population, everything I could dig up. All Iblis wants is the location of their home and their fleet. And these deployments could have been made with one ship. Why does he assume they have a fleet?"

Precentor ffoulks turned in her chair and began typing. "So let's have some new secret orders. With the Precentor ROM's own confirmation codes at that. Heh-heh. Silly Willie - subverting Precentors, undermine Demi-Precentors, but it never occurs to you to get control of the Adepts who actually operate the HPGs? If it had, these orders would have already been sent. Top-down thinking has doomed many a devoted servant of Blake's Vision."

0-0-0-0-0

_**Clearspot System, Dark Nebula  
Trellshire Province, Lyran Commonwealth  
11th Day, Season of Summer, 7352nd Year of Time  
December 8, 2999 A.D.**_

Augustus Lane and Kylie Sadako (designated 'Mission Specialists', not mentioning their ComStar ranks), as well as the rest of the crew of the Metropolis, had listened to the fighter pilot's tales of Kobol and the Thirteen Tribes and the Cylons and the Exodus with tolerant smirks, amazed at the rot the Periphery neo-barbarians would believe.

Then they received via the ship's HPG secret orders, co-signed by both the Precentor ROM and the Precentor Martial, rescinding their previous mission in the Dark Nebula. They were now ordered to find out everything they could about the United Colonies and their contacts with other worlds, and to send a detailed report in exactly one month. Anything that could make the heads of two of the most territorial factions in ComStar agree on something must be right up there with finding Kerensky's Fleet. The way Adept Sadako was drooling over the little fighters, Lane suspected it was the technology.

A day later they were on the ship _Sagittaria Dawn_, under non-spin-induced artificial gravity, comfortably accelerating at almost fifty gravities toward the Majahaul Mining Station. They only took fourteen hours to make a flight that would take a DropShip four days. It made not believing the tales of their origin a bit more difficult.

Their engineers had explained the operation of the mobile mining station with the three discs - magnetohydrodynamic centrifuges, each designed for a specific operation; to extract metallic hydrogen, to extract and stabilize a substance called 'tylium', and to reduce the remaining mass to monoatomic matter and separate it into pure elements for transport. Mining and refining all at once, and when they returned home, they could just hand over one-hundred-percent pure elements of all varieties to their industries.

The mining base itself was the last straw.

It was formed of some odd metallic laminate only a couple of centimeters thick, assembled like a simple shelter. It had heat and a self-renewing atmosphere and gravity. If it weren't for the view outside of the asteroid it rested on and the asteroid field in the sky, it could have been on a planet. And a third of it had one wall missing, exposing it to the depths of space for the Vipers to land, and it held atmosphere anyway.

It was impossible. It simply could not exist. Yet there it was.

The United Colonies people had been gracious hosts. They had been polite and offered to help them explore the system. And they said that according to their own laws, the mineral wealth of this tiny system belonged to whomever dug it up, so they were welcome to start mining - something that an expedition from the Successor States would have never said.

When Sadako mentioned that they were supposed to be lostech prospectors - their original cover identity - the United Colonies people pointed them toward whatever was controlling those drone fighters. They even volunteered to help explore it. Again, no one from the Successor States would have done that.

That evening, after most of the base finally went to sleep, Lane went to the hangar and stood a meter away from the vacuum of space. He had brought a cup of what one of the Australian-sounding Colonials had called beef tea, but hadn't drunk it. Idly he tossed the contents through the invisible partition. It expanded into a glittery cloud of crystals and drifted over the surface of the asteroid.

"Hey!" Sadako's voice came from behind him. "You couldn't sleep either, huh? I don't blame you, this is so exciting! Unfortunately most of their technical manuals are in this weird language - the writing looks like little pictures -"

"Adept Sadako," Lane interrupted, speaking formally since there was no one nearby to overhear. "Have you thought about it?"

"About what, Precentor?" she asked, using the same degree of formality as he did.

"The Mission. The Work of the Blessed Blake."

She straightened up and recited, "We keep the lost knowledge of the Star League. We prevent the Scavenger Lords from exploiting that knowledge to destroy themselves. And one day, the Star League will be reborn and we will use the science and technology we have protected to usher in a new Golden Age for all mankind."

He nodded. "Very good, Adept." He sighed, his breath becoming briefly visible on the edge of the invisible whatever. "And what of the United Colonies?"

"I don't understand?"

"They aren't of the Star League. If their tales are to be believed, they were never part of the Star League - or even of Holy Terra. And I'm inclined to believe them. We can't possibly pretend that they're just some lucky Periphery proto-state. They have no use for the 'lost knowledge of the Star League'. Except maybe to open up an antiques shop."

"Um, Precentor? You're talking nonsense."

He sat on the deck. "Do you realize that the Guiding Principles and the Words of the Blessed Blake say about this situation? _Absolutely nothing!_ What do the all-inclusive procedural manuals say is the appropriate course of action when meeting a technologically superior culture? Not a single paragraph about what to do. They aren't Scavenger Lords, they aren't neo-barbs, they aren't the Star League. What is their role in the Mission of ComStar? Do we ignore them? Steal their technology? Shoot them? Hand them the Keys to the Kingdoms? What? _Where does my life's work fit into this!?_"

Sadako sat down besides him. "You know, I hadn't thought of that. I was too busy trying to understand their explanation of gravity plates."

"I figured as much," Lane said. Kylie Sadako was in ComStar for one reason - the gadgets. She was a true technophile. Ever since he met the girl, he always thought half-jokingly that she would have abandoned ComStar if someone else had better toys.

Now someone had better toys.

Sadako hopped back to her feet. "Well, the Precentors in the First Circuit must be wondering the same thing. I guess that's why we have orders to find out what we can about them. It's their job to worry about Blake's Vision. We're Explorer Corps - we seek and search. It's our job to find out about the United Colonies. We do our job, let the Primus do his."

He sighed. "That's all we can do for now."


	18. Chapter 18

_**Deep Space  
11th Day, Season of Summer, 7352nd Year of Time  
December 8, 2999 A.D.**_

The Starchaser long-range reconnaissance craft was basically a Viper with the weapons removed to make room for a second set of gravitic pulse generators. This extra pulse generator allowed the tylium-fusion engines to run at vastly increased efficiency, making the Starchaser the fastest manned non-lightspeed craft ever built by humans. And now, lacking a human pilot whose survival had to be considered, still more tweaking increased engine efficiency even further.

C.O.R.A. seldom got to do much on the Galactica except assist the training personnel. She was an Artificial Intelligence customized for flight, and she only truly lived when she flew.

No pilot encumbered her this time, and she was instructed to fly the longest, fastest course she had ever navigated. The course ran through star systems and null-spaces, ending up inside the Dark Nebula for a brief while, then onward to the Apollo system. All of this under constant acceleration. Then a new route back to start under constant deceleration.

For much of the trip, C.O.R.A. would be well in the grip of relativity, very close to the speed of light. On the return loop she would slow down until she returned to the Botany Bay system at more rational velocities. But during the high point of her ride, every sub-atomic particle would be a high-energy cosmic ray, and every tiny dust mote would hit with the force of an artillery shell.

For this eventuality, the Starchaser had a new component - a wedge-shaped plate on the front, a plate of powered armor with an overcoat of Thirteenth Tribe armor from captured and salvaged BattleMechs. This was to be a test of the armor's real damage-absorption capability, as well as the means by which the Starchaser would break records for final velocity.

From her point of view, the trip through the Clearspot System took only seconds. To the Majahaul Expedition, the passage took several minutes, during which relativity-distorted signals were received and sent. A short hop later, and C.O.R.A. was speeding through the Apollo system. Again, signals were sent and received.

On the planet Apollo, every sensor and scanner on or around the planet was slowly turning to the heavens. The weak emergence signature was detected, and the exhaust of the Starchaser's engines were seen, forming a streak across the system at almost the speed of light. But the force field prevented active sensors from detecting the Viper, and the relativistic distortion warped the craft's appearance.

To make matters worse, the ComStar News Service had just reported the Fomalhaut Disaster. As soon as it was announced, conspiracy theorists were crying 'aliens did it'.

So after C.O.R.A.'s forty-minute sweep through the Apollo system, the planet Apollo was having it's very first U.F.O. scare.

0-0-0-0-0

_**City of Eleazor, Planet Apollo, Apollo System  
Trellshire Province, Lyran Commonwealth  
11th Day, Season of Summer, 7352nd Year of Time  
December 8, 2999 A.D.**_

"First message from home!" Brie announced that morning.

As everyone gathered for primary meal, Brie gave Starbuck a smirk. "C.O.R.A. says 'hello'."

"'Cora'?" Julie asked.

Apollo said, "Oh don't worry. She's just another lady that Starbuck climbed all over, took to the heavens, then walked away from without looking back."

"Another one, Starbuck? That's like thirteen I've come across so far. Are you totally incapable of keeping it in your pants?"

Gilmesh commented, "He's well known for it. _Galactica's _shuttle, ladies ride free."

"Guys!" Starbuck protested over the other Warriors' chuckles. He explained to Julie, "C.O.R.A. is the computer that acts as the co-pilot in the Starchaser. We've done a few missions together. And you've met her - who do you think you flew against in the training simulator on the _Galactica_?"

"Computer?" Julie raised an eyebrow at that. "I thought you Kobolians didn't like artificial intelligences."

"Correction - we don't like artificial intelligences that are trying to kill us. There's a difference."

Apollo said. "The C.O.R.A. system is very limited - she's either in the simulator or in a Starchaser. And in any case, she's not a person. She doesn't have self-awareness or imagination or intuition or the ability to learn. She's a sophisticated emulation of a personality. We don't build the fully intelligent type anymore."

"Anymore?"

"Look up the Galatea Project in the historical archives when we get back. But don't eat before you read it. Afterwards, you might not want to eat ever again."

A chime came from the door. Gilmesh looked at the wall readout and announced, "There's someone at our airlock. I think he's knocking."

Brie turned on the security viewer and said, "And he's wearing a hood. I think I saw a couple of those at the Mercenaries' Hiring Hall, in the staff section."

"Curious," Apollo said. He got up and went to the airlock. A minute later, he returned with an envelope.

"Well, this is odd. An invitation from a 'Janos Marik, Precentor Apollo' to us to visit the ComStar Operations Center today."

"This ComStar thing confuses me," Dr Wilcox said. "From the library records, I couldn't tell if it was a messenger service, a bank, a religion, a diplomatic agency, or a government."

Apollo said, "But I gathered that ComStar is, among all that other felgerkarb, officially neutral in all diplomatic matters?"

"True," Dr Jeffries confirmed. "They have complete control of the old Star League's faster-than-light communications network. They stay neutral and pass diplomatic communications between the nations, as well as selling civilian communications and offering banking services. And from the description of their ranking system, Precentor Apollo is the title of the head of ComStar for this planet."

Apollo nodded in acknowledgment. "So if we can get on their good side, we can use them as a diplomatic channel to the other governments. We have to establish communication lines if we're to get civilization restarted around here. Besides, we don't have FTL communications, although I've heard rumors that the Cylons do. I admit I'm curious."

"Nice to know the old Star League pulled ahead of you Kobolians in something," Dr Wilcox said.

"Quite a few things," Apollo said. "But this is one of the more spectacular."

Adrienne came out in standard coveralls. "I beg your pardon, but what time am I allowed to eat?"

That made everyone feel awkward. "Come here, girl," Julie said. "Sit down."

"Oh I couldn't -"

"You're part of the civilian crew," Apollo said. "Eat when you need to, or with us if you like."

She sat down nervously. "If I may ask ... what is my job here?"

"You're very important," Starbuck said. "We need you to help us establish contacts with the slave community, learn how everything's set up. We can hardly destroy a target without knowing what target we're trying to destroy, can we?"

"Well," Apollo said, "I'm pretty sure we won't conquer the planet with four Warriors and one soldier."

"Four Colonial Warriors and only one planet?" Starbuck asked. "What's the problem? If anything, we're over-manned. Want to let them get reinforcements, make it a fight?"

Julie swatted him in the back of the head. "Got enough ego on you, cobber?"

"Oh come on!" Starbuck said. "I've conquered planets single-handed in my time!"

Apollo laughed. "One! You conquered _one_ planet! And that was special circumstances."

"Yeah - I didn't have stodgy unimaginative types making fun of me!"

Julie asked, "And how many girls were there on that one, Oh Great Warrior?"

Apollo said, "There was that little blonde thing - I think she was what, fifteen?"

"I never laid a finger on her!" Starbuck protested.

"You couldn't tell from the way she followed you around," Apollo said. "Staring at you with her big blue eyes like a daggitt pup -"

Brie opened the message packet and made an exclamation. "Oh frak!"

"What?" everyone asked, distracted from the comedy routine.

"The pirates attacked Botany Bay!"

That got everyone's attention. The message packet was downloaded to the main salon viewscreen and they watched the news broadcasts of the pirate invasion. They rejoiced over the victory, mourned their fallen friends, and noted the lessons learned.

And Adrienne stared in silence until the Awesome BattleMech was dismembered and the Botany Bay militia mass-blasted the cockpit. Then she began screaming.

Juliet and Dr Jeffries, being the closest, held her as she screamed and thrashed. After a time, her screams went from wordless bellows to calls of "MOMMY! MOMMY! PLEASE MOVE MOMMY! PLEASE STOP BLEEDING!" She was restrained until her screams settled down to tears.

As Adrienne calmed down and her traumatic flashback became simple uncontrollable weeping, Starbuck said, "Alright, I'll build the warhead - that will leave us one engine on the shuttle. More than we need with these limpers. After we take out that fortress, Gilmesh and Brie will begin the strafing runs - make sure to get the spaceports - "

Apollo slapped him in the back of the head. "Don't tempt me, Starbuck! I'm almost ready to do it! But we will _not _fly off all half-charged and emotional! We'll stick to the plan. Scout first. Learn what we can, where and how the target is vulnerable. Prepare ourselves properly. Then - and only then - do we start killing in a calm and rational manner. Like civilized beings!"

No one could argue with his logic.

Apollo looked at his chronometer, noting that the Starchaser would be in range for another ten centons. He had the time to prepare an addendum to his message drop.

0-0-0-0-0

_**Clearspot System, Dark Nebula  
Trellshire Province, Lyran Commonwealth  
11th Day, Season of Summer, 7352nd Year of Time  
December 8, 2999 A.D.**_

The news packet from the Starchaser was met with celebration and some mourning for lost comrades.

The visiting Explorer Corps agents watched the recorded Botany Bay news broadcasts of the conflict. They were impressed by the destruction of what they estimated was a two-company combined arms unit with a good Mech force. That the defending forces had not one single Mech was startling.

Those bizarre 'landcruisers' were amazing things - antigravity and exotic energy weapons in what they estimated was a two-thousand-ton vehicle that could go at any speed from naught to aircraft speeds. Lane could seriously see the BattleMech becoming obsolete if those things became commonplace.

They were briefly disoriented by the Colonial Warriors noting the effect of missiles and autocannon, and remarking that their military had stopped using such weapons _two thousand years ago _... But they were getting used to such revelations and recovered quickly.

Then came the news footage of the _Galactica_. Sadako gripped Lane's hand hard when they saw the vaporization of a JumpShip and three DropShips with firepower undreamed-of and in violation of the Rules of War.

Lane felt his last certainties crumble. Like all Explorer Corps Precentors, he knew about ComGuard. From the stories Boomer and the others told of their Thousand-Year War, these were well-seasoned veterans, and that _Galactica _was a powerful active-duty WarShip. And ComGuard was a mothballed fleet with no real experienced personnel, performing perhaps one mission every couple of generations. The old absolute certainty that ComStar had the power to do whatever was necessary vanished.

The Primus needed information. To do that, Lane needed to learn. To do that, he needed to earn their trust.

And one earned trust by working together.

"Hey, Boomer? You fellows said you'd like to help us with that excavation?"

"Sure, Lane. We can bring the off-duty Vipers for defense, and the Dawn isn't doing anything but extending the base right now."

"Well, when we came out here, we brought a database of old identity signals. Unfortunately, the nebula's ionization was a lot higher than our equipment could burn through."

"Not surprised - there's a baby irregular forming in there and it's flaring right now. It was probably sleeping the last time a survey was done."

Lane nodded. He hadn't even thought of the stars in a nebula as being obstacles. "Well, do you have a system that can burn through that mess?"

Boomer grinned. "Give us a few centons and we'll have you a guaranteed Colonial felgerkarb-burner ready for action. I have to admit I'm curious about Our Friendly Neighbors myself."

0-0-0-0-0

_**City of Eleazor, Planet Apollo, Apollo System  
Trellshire Province, Lyran Commonwealth  
11th Day, Season of Summer, 7352nd Year of Time  
December 8, 2999 A.D.**_

The ComStar Operations Compound was - as always - a busy place. Among the various persons in business suits and uniforms were the hooded and robed Adepts of ComStar.

Among these persons were two people in beige uniforms with short capes. The guards noticed them because the two persons were carrying huge conspicuous sidearms. Not pretty ceremonial things in artistic displays but functional-looking ugly things in fast-draw holsters. That always got their attention.

A uniformed guard came up and politely asked, "May I assist you?"

The man said, "We received an invitation from a 'Janos Marik, Precentor Apollo', delivered by messenger this morning."

"There is a notice to watch for you. And may I have your names for our visitor's logs? Name, homeworld, citizenship, military ranks and affiliations."

"Apollo sigma-six-three-three-seven-omicron-aleph of Caprica, United Colonies of Kobol, Captain in the United Colonial Service."

The woman recited, "Juliet Moreland of Botany Bay, United Colonies of Kobol, Provisional Lieutenant in the United Colonial Service." Juliet found it easier than she thought it would be to identify herself as a citizen of the United Colonies.

The guard nodded and entered the information in his notes. "The Precentor will be with you momentarily."

As the two waited, they watched the activities in the central atrium through the open doors.

"Religious ceremony?" Apollo asked. "Reminds me of some of the more elaborate ones I've seen."

"Looks like something fancy," Juliet replied. "The Beebe doesn't go in for elaborate public stuff like this. I recognize the machine, though - there's one just like it in Singh, but ours doesn't do anything."

"Well, I don't think we were invited here to convert to the local religion." He looked around. "Whatever they want, everything looks open. Nice and civilized."

"Ask that poor girl Adrienne about how civilized this planet is," Juliet said harshly. "The benefits of civilization around here only touch the aristocrats and their immediate circle. Everyone else is merely a helpless victim."

"Well said!" a voice said from behind. They turned and met the gaze of a mature man in a hooded robe. "I am Janos Marik, Precentor Apollo, the local operational head of ComStar. An honor, Captain - Lieutenant. Usually we only get Bandit Kings with pretensions coming out of the Periphery. We seldom get to greet a new nation."

"And you're so sure we qualify?" Juliet asked.

"Your vessels are completely new designs, not simply rebuilt Star League era relics or copied from older designs. And we understand they are very efficient - your light fighters flew for three days under power and you still haven't had them refueled. Obviously you have industries and engineers worthy of the name, not merely rote-trained technicians. Come along, let me show you around."

He guided them on a swift tour of the facility, including the Hyper-Pulse Generator, the huge apparatus which made interstellar communications possible, attended by it's flocks of Adepts.

"Why the ceremonial?" Apollo asked. "Seems rather pointless just to operate a communications device."

"To impress upon our young Adepts the awesome responsibility left us by the Blessed Jerome Blake, the founder of ComStar. He was head of the Star League's Department of Communications two centuries ago. When the Usurper was defeated, the heads of the Great Houses could not agree among themselves who should rule, and the Star League collapsed in a flurry of civil war. To prevent of Lords of the Inner Sphere from using the HPG network for coordinated interstellar warfare, the Blessed Blake managed to take control and remake the Department of Communications into ComStar, a neutral organization. It is an awesome responsibility - to keep the lines of communication open, to be the island of calm in the seas of war. For one day the messages will be of negotiations for reunion, for renewal, the Star League reborn. One day peace will return to the stars. Thus the ceremonial - to remind our Adepts that this is the most serious work, the holy work of peace for mankind."

"Did you rehearse that?" Juliet asked. Like most Botaneans, she had little patience for long-winded speeches.

"I use variants of that speech on a regular basis," Marik said. "Truth is truth."

"So why make it so public?" Apollo asked. "Wouldn't private initiates-only ceremonials be more effective for indoctrination purposes?"

Marik gave an embarrassed laugh. "Ah yes. Very observant, Captain. Most people don't think of it like that. As you have already noticed, despite appearances, these are not civilized stars. The neo-barbarians see arcane ceremonial and they instinctively think of magic. Thus the barbarians, thinking that the magic of the Adepts is needed to use the machines, leave the ComStar facilities alone. Civilized men see the ceremony and know that the rather mundane procedures of operation are mixed in those liturgies and rituals. But they dare not risk experimenting to find out which is mechanics and which is mummery, lest they damage the HPG. So they also leave our facilities alone."

"Clever," Apollo admitted. "Paranoid, but clever."

"Nothing is past these people," Juliet pointed out. "I'm pretty sure these hooded bruces would be having their toenails pulled out in the Duke's dungeons for the operation instructions if the Duke thought he could get away with it."

"Quite right," Precentor Marik said. "I'm sure your own HPG operators would agree in principle, at least."

"We've got one of these on Botany Bay," Juliet said. "But no one knows what it is or how it works. We built a museum around it. The Lyrans probably took the operators with them when they pulled out."

"Botany Bay," the Precentor said. "I pulled the records of that world when I heard of your delegation. Primary industry, industrial sands. Colonized in 2549 by the Sydney Preservation Consortium. Seized by the Lyran Commonwealth 2766, last recorded contact November 11, 2776. Allegedly one of the three arcologies is one of the few colonies of Australian Aboriginal tribes beyond Terra." He looked at Juliet's features. "Or not so alleged, I see."

Apollo coughed. "Um ... instead of 'Terra', could we call that planet 'Earth'? We know of another Terra some distance anti-spinward of here. It could get confusing."

"Yes, I can see that," Precentor Marik agreed. "There were almost three thousand officially known human worlds at the height of the Star League, you know - everything from full colonies with billions of citizens to isolated outposts with only a few seasonal visitors. And as for unofficial ones - " He shrugged. "Who knows? Some repetition is bound to creep in. Blake alone knows how many worlds have duplicate names. Although I couldn't find any reference to a world called 'Caprica' at all."

"The Twelve Colonies aren't in your databases," Apollo said. "That's a matter for another time."

They had been guided to a private conference room, where the Precentor offered them seats and drinks of fruit juice. "I understand that you've been doing well in trading?" he prompted.

"We sold our goods well enough," Apollo said. "Our trade ships should do well when we give them permission to begin trading."

"Oh? How many cargo ships do you have?"

"Not many," Apollo said. "But it should be enough. The currency exchange was a pleasant surprise."

"Hard currency always does well, Captain. Something like forty ComStar Letters of Credit to the cubit, I believe? I think you'll have to make arrangements with our Financial Control Office to help prevent a drain of hard currency from your economy."

Apollo thought it was amusing - gold was a simple industrial material in the Colonies, not as valuable or useful as platinum, and the cubit was a fiat currency to them. "That's a matter for the Quorum. I'm just a Colonial Warrior."

Juliet said, "Aren't you a Quorum member?"

"My _father _is a member of the Quorum," Apollo said a bit harshly. "If anything, he's grooming my sister Athena to take his place when he retires."

She smiled and tried to look innocent. "But Brie told me that your personal hereditary titles included 'Lord of the Realm of Bellarium' and 'Dominus of the House of Aleph'? And your father's hereditary title is 'High Lord of Caprica'? As in 'ruling the planet'?" Juliet had gathered - from both Botanean history and watching the people around her - how the Inner Sphere people thought about aristocrats, and knew that Apollo's innate modesty prevented him from properly exploiting this. The Inner Sphere love of aristocracy could open doors they could use.

Apollo smiled and whispered through gritted teeth, "Starbuck put you up to this, didn't he?"

"No need to be embarrassed, Captain," the ComStar Precentor said warmly. "It's almost a universal practice throughout the Inner Sphere to put the scions of the noble Houses through military service. And in case you're wondering, the name 'Marik' is not a coincidence; I can claim the Captain-General of the Free Worlds League as a cousin. I renounced the rights of a scion of House Marik - such as they were - for a higher calling. You'll find our ranks filled with nobles who have done likewise for the greater duty of ComStar."

The conversation went on for quite a while, varying between inanities and detailed analysis of their respective societies. Apollo managed to fend off detailed descriptions of the current situation and recent history of the United Colonies without directly lying, as he had been instructed to do.

Janos Marik, meanwhile, was trying to probe as deeply as he could without being rude. The secret orders he had received from Terra - co-signed by two First Circuit Precentors together no less! - told him to discover whatever he could about the United Colonies. But he found out very little. This young lordling was very adept at not answering questions. He found out more from the body language of Lieutenant Moreland than from Captain Apollo, who apparently had the discipline of a much more mature man - aristocratic training, he figured.

Part of the Precentor's secret orders were to, if possible, get an agent to their world. That was simple enough, but it required a significant exception to the ComStar Periphery policies. However, he felt that a secret order from two First Circuit members should cover his actions adequately.

The offer of a ComStar technical team to get the Botany Bay HPG operational again was graciously accepted.


	19. Chapter 19

_**Government Bunker, Arcology of Singh  
Planet Botany Bay, Coreward Periphery  
12th Day, Season of Summer, 7352nd Year of Time  
December 9, 2999 A.D.**_

The meeting of the Quorum of the United Colonies was odd, as such meeting go, as only one planet was actually represented.

The renamed Quorum of Thirteen (to represent the reunion with the Thirteenth Tribe) controlled one city and a couple of hundred spaceships in orbit, and even they acknowledged the old tribal structure was fading away under the stresses of the past four yahrens. The Quorum was represented by President Tinia.

The Republic of Botany Bay controlled the rest of the planet, as well as the bulk of the population. They were represented by Big Chief Reginald Voort.

Admiral Adama of Caprica was, by the Law of the Colonies, one of two hereditary representatives. Hathor, the Regent of Picon, stood in for the other hereditary representative, the heir to Gaius Baltar (who was too ashamed to be identified publicly). The fact that the planets represented no longer belonged to humanity was irrelevant.

Officially, these four were the entirety of the Quorum of the United Colonies. Fortunately, the Law of the Colonies covered these circumstances, making the meeting binding and legal. The continuity of civilization and government across two millennia, weathering insurrection, plague, supernovae, genocide, and exodus, was preserved.

Admiral Adama stood before the four. "As the senior member of the Quorum, I call this meeting to order. May the God of Creation and our respective tuletary deities grant us the wisdom to serve our peoples.

"First, I would like to report that the ultra-high-speed courier was a limited success. It made the circuit in just forty-nine 'hours', although the Starchaser's engines have been abused to uselessness. The expense of this method makes it impractical for regular use, although special circumstances may warrant it in the future. But as a consequence, we have early reports from our two expeditions.

"The Majahaul Expedition is a resounding success. Not only have the tylium deposits been excellent, the heavy and industrial elements in the debris of the system they have named 'Clearspot' have proven to be superb. The Majahaul Consortium is considering placing a long-term mining base in the system - with a small loan from the Quorum."

That got a smile from the Quorum. The tylium was a major strategic resource, so the Quorum would have no problem funding an expansion of private mining. And the other mining products would help the expanding economy.

"In addition, they have found some sort of automated Star League facility. They cannot determine what sort, as it is protected by an automated defense system. In addition, contact was made with a human civilian expedition on the JumpShip _Metropolis_. Since we did not give any diplomatic instructions, Mission Commander Boomer established peaceful contact of his own initiative."

Adama got a bit more earnest. "This is the part I dislike. The expedition to Apollo has been productive. It has already sent back basic information concerning the present state of the Inner Sphere - which is a state of constant war."

A hologram popped up, showing two star-maps. "This map shows the state of Earth's sub-colonies at the time of last contact in 2776. The other map is the current one. As you can see, save for the absence of the Terran Hegemony and Rim Worlds Republic, the borders between the five major states are very similar. You may have also noted from comparing these maps that a great many planets - several hundreds, in fact - are no longer shown on the newer map.

"They call the current state of affairs 'the Third Succession War' but the state of hostilities has continued practically unbroken from the time of the last contact. In fact, the major states have lost a great deal of their infrastructure. They are apparently no longer able to easily build JumpShips, so have instituted Rules of War to keep them from being targets. The wars they fight are highly limited planetary campaigns, but they are constant and resource-intensive. Just to underscore the situation, the bulk of this information is courtesy of an official interplanetary body called the Mercenary Review Board which operates Mercenary Hiring Halls on most planets in the Inner Sphere.

"It is the Law of the Colonies that we never make the first assault in a war. It is our belief that the sole purpose of war is to utterly destroy those enemies who would utterly destroy you. But these nations of the Inner Sphere - and even the individual worlds - apparently wage wars because they want control of resources, or to take over new territories - or just because their rulers have a personal dislike of each other."

That caused a ripple of discomfort. Adama let it die down before he stated. "And it gets worse. From the processed minds of the pirates, we were able to determine where they were planning to take their captives to sell. The Apollo Expedition has confirmed this - it is the planet Apollo. In fact, they have managed to find at least one Botanean already - a young woman."

Adama activated the hologram, showing a frightened-looking Botanean woman. "She was a child when she was taken - possibly in the Raid of 2979 - and apparently has vague childhood memories of the city of Noonien. A scan of her genetic code was sent, but we have no compu-records of Botanean family lines."

Big Chief Voort said, "We'll send out a request via the news service for people who lost a daughter during that raid to submit for testing. Bringing home even one to their family will be worth the effort."

Adama gave a theatrical sigh and picked up a folder. "So if just one is worth the effort, I don't suppose this proposal to expand the Military so we can wipe out piracy and the slave trade in this whole galactic region within a yahren would be well received?"

"You've got to be kidding!" Voort said. "Once word of that girl gets out our major problem is going to be keeping people from hiring your civilian ships and doing the Harold to Apollo with whatever guns they can carry!"

"Oh, good. I was worried about recruitment."

Hathor said, "Sire Adama, you already know we'll approve the budget request. Must you be so theatrical?"

Adama became more serious. "I suppose I am being overly theatrical. But using naked force to compel people to accept a new way of life for their own good ... it doesn't sit well with me. I half feel like I need to convince myself."

Tinia mentioned, "Not too long ago, Adama, I would have agreed with you. But this is on a par with the Colonial Service's anti-poverty initiatives - a necessary action to remove a major strategic weakness before an enemy exploits it. With these stars in their current condition, we're just delaying the inevitable. If not pirates, it will eventually be the Cylons. If not the Cylons, it would be someone else. I'd hate to think of what would have happened to this world if the Cylons had gotten here first."

"I am aware of that," Adama said. "According to our projections, if we can bring a population of five hundred million into the United Colonies and build them up to our living standards in under five yahrens, we can have a full Fleet in ten yahrens. Of course in theory, if the entire Inner Sphere and Periphery were magically brought to Colonial economic and technology levels overnight, they could produce two full fleets with full crews every three yahrens and support two thousand fleets in the field. I doubt we'll get that far before the Cylons arrive."

Voort asked, "How far will we get now?"

"Botany Bay lacks both the population and infrastructure for supporting the six hundred combat ships of a conventional Colonial Service Fleet. The proposed anti-pirate force would only be twenty-one ships, not including the Galactica. The Galactica is currently massively overstaffed, having taken in the Service personnel from destroyed facilities during the Fall of the Colonies. Bringing the Galactica down to it's normal crew complement and reassigning the excess would allow the staffing of the projected capital ships, but for the entire proposed force, I want to distribute the Kobolian veterans more thinly to train and season recruits. With the proposed expansion, we would need twenty thousand new personnel. With scavenging some fifty Colonial ships for resources to speed-build the ships, we can have them constructed in a quatron but it will still take half a yahren to have the crews battle-ready."

"Twenty thousand ... out of a population of one million." Voort shook his head. "One person out of every fifty under arms. Two percent of the population." He was appalled at those numbers.

"I know," Adama said. "But we'll work on increasing those numbers to decent levels later."

Voort almost laughed. The pirate raids he had seen in his life had taught him the importance of a strong military, but he knew he would never approach the Kobolian enthusiasm for defense. A society whose major national holiday was 'Armaments Day' had little patience for a debate on the merits of a small peacetime militia. The Thousand-Year War had left an indelible mark on Terra's star-lost cousins.

Adama continued, "The commander of the Apollo Expedition, Captain Apollo -" He smiled at that. "- has formally requested permission to launch a paramilitary operation to liberate Botanean civilians. As Admiral, I intend to deny him permission in favor of a proper liberation operation later."

Voort laughed. "You're about to burst with pride, aren't you, Adama?"

Adama grinned like a schoolboy. "He is my son. And his first instinct on entering a slave-holding society is to arrange a mass slave escape. Of course I'm proud. It makes me wish I were there with him."

"Don't let Athena hear you say that. She'd hit you on the head and put you under house arrest."

Adama nodded. "She has been getting over-protective. Maybe I should find some new duty for her. Something away from being my aide."

"We'll probably need a diplomatic corps soon," Hathor said. "She's attractive, personable, well-acquainted with local politics - "

Tinia added, "And has that Adama stubbornness."

Adama looked incredulous, as if surprised that anyone would have reason to accuse him of being stubborn.

"Good idea," Voort said. "I'll make a note of that."

0-0-0-0-0

_**Clearspot System, Dark Nebula  
Trellshire Province, Lyran Commonwealth  
12th Day, Season of Summer, 7352nd Year of Time  
December 9, 2999 A.D.**_

The _Sagittaria Dawn _had originally been a luxury passenger craft, including a topmost observation deck to allow tourists to watch the once-per-seven-yahren visual conjunction of the Three Suns over the world of Sagittaria. Later, the consortium owning her had sold the ship off to a transport service clan who had stripped out her more luxurious fittings to make room for more powerful engines and true interplanetary flight.

In the Fall of the Colonies, the crew had stripped out the seats in order to pack in refugees from the Burning of Sagittaria. They had taken off under fire with four times their mass rating in refugees, mostly children, and managed to sail across the galaxy with the Rag-Tag Fleet for four yahren, home to two hundred people. This was one of the many tales of heroism that the Kobolians would pass on to their descendants.

The observation deck still had the transparent walls and ceiling. The rear quarter had huge plates replacing the transparent metal, legacy of an encounter with a fragment of a Cylon Raider during the Exodus. The head of the Raider's dead pilot was still nailed to the deck's back wall, a macabre trophy of survival.

Kylie Sadako stared at the face of the dead Cylon. She had heard the tales of the Kobolians - the Thousand-Year War, the relentless Cylon advance and treachery, the burning of worlds. But even if she had not, she felt that she saw something in the ominous grill of the alien machine. Something that spoke to her, almost like a dream.

The Colonial Warrior called Palyma came up and asked, "He have anything interesting to say?"

"He was afraid," Kylie said without thinkng. "He was never going to see his family again."

He looked at her as if she had grown an extra head. "That -" he said, pointing at the metal face, "- is a Cylon Centurion. They don't have families, they have production runs. And the only thing they ever feared was not getting in their daily quota of atrocity and genocide."

"You sound bitter."

"How insightful. I was one of thirteen children. My father was one of fourteen children, and my mother was one of eleven. My generation of our family, just my siblings and first cousins, numbered over six hundred. My people are more fertile than yours, but even by Colonial standards, that was impressive. Now, there's just _me_ to carry on our family. Hades, there's not even three hundred Libras total anymore! Bitter? Lords yes I'm bitter." He turned away from her and faced the depths of the nebula. "I came up to tell you that the third set of signals worked. Our Friendly Neighbors are standing down. We're getting a homing signal now."

She came up behind him and put a hand on his shoulder. "Why did you join your military? Revenge?"

"So no one else will feel like I do."

Kylie was embarrassed. "I'm sorry I brought it up. We hear about old wars - the First Succession War, the Kentarus V massacre, entire worlds destroyed - but that was long ago. It's nothing like what we do now. Now, it's usually just MechWarriors and their support troops."

"If your wars aren't terrible, how do you stop them?"

"We don't."

They were silent for a while, watching the nebula pass. Then a voice came on the intership. "We're getting a signal! Listen to this!"

A female voice came on; "_This is Camelot Command, headquarters Twelfth Army, Star League Defense Force. You have been approved for passage. Please follow the navigation beam to dock. Welcome in honor in the name of the Star League."_

Kylie was flabbergasted, her mouth flapping. "There's someone alive there?! The Exodus Fleet?!"

"I doubt it," Palyma said, "They didn't ask for identification. Let's get to the control deck. They might know something."

When they got to the control deck, the half-dozen assorted undercover Explorer Corps operatives were listening intently. The Kobolian sensor officer announced, "There's a fraking huge hologram covering the asteroid - active sensors show it's smaller than it looks and has surface installations."

Palyma nodded. "Clever. I wonder why we never did that?"

Boomer replied, "Because if we didn't mine them to dust, we - and the Cylons - booby-trapped all the large asteroids in our systems to prevent them from being thrown at our planets. Remember the Icarus Campaign, at the start of the War?"

The sensor officer reported, "There's a Thirteenth Tribe mag-fusion plant - big one, too. But it's idling. Asteroid is hollow, no life-signs, human or otherwise. No artificial gravity, but the rotation is good for point-three. Oxygen traces all over - there should be pressure inside."

"Land her and let's go take a look, then."

Exploring the base was initially rather dull. The landing field was a huge magnetized plate, which would have helped an Inner Sphere DropShip but wasn't too helpful to the _Dawn_. Mr DeFoe of the Noonien Industrial Consortium accompanied the _Metropolis_ mission specialists and three Colonial Warriors.

"Phew!" DeFoe mentioned. "What a smell!"

"Decomposing plastics," Lane said. "This base has been abandoned a long time."

In the Control Center, Boomer looked around with an appraising eye as Kylie went through a list of the most common Star League era computer passwords. He noticed a painting of a bald man in a uniform. "So who were you, I wonder."

Lane mentioned, "That's General Alexander Kerensky, Lord-Protector of the Star League. He defeated the Usurper Amaris in the great Civil War. Then when the Successor States began fighting among themselves for the remains of the Star League, rather than let his forces become yet another faction, he led them on a great Exodus out of the Inner Sphere. Legend says that they're out there somewhere, and one day they'll return and reunite the Inner Sphere."

"Deserting his duty?" Boomer said. "Leaving the people he's supposed to protect? Why would you want the modocker back? Target practice?"

The chamber lit up. "It was 'rosebud'!" Kylie said excitedly. "We have full access now. Last log was recorded on ... July 7, 2784."

"And on November 5, 2784," Lane said reverently, "Kerensky's forces gathered in the New Samarkand system and jumped into the Periphery. This must have been an assembly point."

Boomer was eaten up by curiosity now. A military man deserting his people in their time of need was so alien to his nature that he couldn't quite process it. He felt like he was missing something. "Can you back it up a bit? Say three quatrons?"

"Huh?"

"That's ... um around fifteen weeks. Try to find something by Kerensky about the Exodus."

"March 22, 2784 it is ... searching forward ... here we go, March 25 ..."

The voice of the long-dead Kerensky sounded; _"The Twelfth Army leadership is proving remarkably resistant to the idea. They are among the most loyal and battle-hardened troops I have - they spearheaded the reconquest of the Rim Worlds Republic and have kept order out here. While they're the least likely to go rogue, I'd hate for them to transfer to one of the Lords. But Councilor DeVille should be here soon. He is usually quite persuasive and should have things running smoothly."_

"That's interesting,." Lane said. "I never heard of a 'Councillor DeVille'. General Kerensky seemed to think a lot of him. Try to find a record of him."

"Scanning ... oh! This file looks a bit ragged, but it's tagged 'DeVille Speech'." Kylie called it up.

A hologram with the date April 17, 2784, showed a group of military officers listening to an elegant man give a speech ...

_"... your primary duty is to the Star League. But where is the Star League? All that's left is a pack of animals disguised as Lords trying to eat each other. Each will try to command you in the name of the Star League to destroy his rivals. And if General Kerensky takes the throne of the First Lord, does that not set the precedent? Will not the Star League eternally belong to the strongest? A dynasty of warlords - a new Age of War?"_

"Interesting," Lane said. "He seems to be of some authority ... Lieutenant?"

Kylie turned and felt her guts freeze. The Colonial Warriors all had their hands on their weapons. They were staring at the hologram in horror.

Except Boomer. He was almost snarling as he glared at the image.

"You modocking demon! _Iblis!_"


	20. Chapter 20

_**BaseStar **_**Hades**  
_**Lyran Commonwealth Space  
Alliance Date 2779.235.3  
December 10, 2999 A.D.**_

The _Hades_ was making only one jump a day. Lucifer's explanation was that this was to allow the technicians to work with and fully understand the experimental drive system. Baltar seemed to accept that. They were still making amazing time compared to null-space travel, especially in unexplored space.

Lucifer also spent a great deal of time examining the relic radio signals that permeated this space. He learned a great deal of the history and politics of the Inner Sphere.

In the meantime, Lucifer had told set a group of technicians to a project, gave them instructions, and let them work for several time-cycles without interruption. Now Lucifer was checking up on their progress in person.

The captured Thirteenth Tribe spacecraft had Cylon worker-caste units swarming around it, overseen by members of the technician caste. Lucifer located the head technician - Lythal by name - inside the old DropShip. [How is the work going?]

[The equipment is surprisingly easy to modify. We should be able to exploit the resources and industries of this region quite profitably.] Lythal warmed to his subject quickly. [The fusion engines and heat-distribution systems were laughably inefficient, we simply harvested them for materials - we produced three grade-seven tylium-fusion systems with the components and had parts left over. The sensors simply required new more efficient receptors and new programming to upgrade to our standards. The computer system is quite fascinating - it's neural-net circuitry is amazing, in many ways more advanced than our own brain-circuitry. But it's capabilities are severely limited by a primitive binary-logic programming language, not to mention being made rather bulky by inefficient I/O systems. Simply replacing it's operating system with Drone Standard gave it a quantum leap in efficiency. With modern manufacturing techniques and these neural-net designs, the quality of brains we could manufacture -]

[Lythal. On topic, if you please?]

[My apologies, Lucifer. A gravity drive and Dadelus Drive, as per your instructions, were installed, although we had to remove a number of compartments for this. And the six low-density laser cannons have replaced with Raider-grade laser-torpedo launchers. We've also installed a twenty-metron-deep force field. We could install powered armor, but I would have to strip off the existing armor.]

[Would that present a problem?]

[Not really. In fact the existing armor is designed for easy removal.]

[It is?]

[Yes, it's a fascinating layered-composite with semi-ablative properties. It's actually designed to absorb incoming energy and redistribute it on a molecular level, destroying itself in the process. Much more cost-effective and able to handle energy weapons better than rigid armor hulls, and able to handle kinetic attacks better than powered armor. It could actually be quite effective on small craft such as Raiders, which are too small for powered armor to be practical. For a mid-sized craft such as this, it would be a matter of preference and mission profile. I believe it would combine well with powered armor on BaseStars and similarly-sized craft.]

Lucifer absorbed all this passively. [Excellent. What about inertial compensation and gravity plating?]

[Easily installed, if you wish.]

[Do so. And quickly so it can be tested before we return to Cylon space. The instructions from the Imperious Leader stated that we were to have allies in this space. This craft will provide an upgrade template to allow them to be useful in the upcoming campaign.]

[Oh that's a good idea! The profits from this project should really help your status back on Cylon!]

[Yes ... it would, wouldn't it?] Lucifer felt a small flush of guilt at his deceit. It was odd in that he had never felt the emotion before - 'guilt' for Cylons was a matter of action and fact, not feeling. He briefly wondered if the state of freedom caused emotions to associate with actions in other beings.

As he left Lythal, Lucifer comforted himself with the ideal that his duty to the Cylon people was far more important than the eternal struggles for status among the caste-nobles of the Alliance. This subterfuge would be worth the results. As was the treason he was planning.

He felt Baltar's presence in the intranet. [He's right, Lucifer. Your project should reap phenomenal rewards. I can see your status eclipsing Baal's. Or even allowing you to challenge Nergal.]

It annoyed Lucifer that he had not detected Baltar spying on him. His plotting had been distracting. [All that matters to me is the good of the Cylon people.]

[False modesty does not suit you, Lucifer.]

[Nor do I practice it. There are those of us who know our place in the universe.] He tried not to put a sneer in his tone. [And know those who are in the wrong place.]

As usual, Baltar missed the insult. [Just remember to whom you owe the opportunity, my friend.]

[Like you would let me forget.] He cut the connection curtly.

Lucifer left the technicians to his next appointment.

In a disused storage bay the golden Centurion Shadrach was waiting.

[I am here as requested, Lucifer. I do not understand the need for this meeting.]

"Please use vocal communications, Shadrach. The reason is that the safety of this command and the whole of Cylon civilization is endangered. The premature release of information could cause irreparable damage."

Shadrach nodded in acknowledgment. "I know this deployment has been irregular. But I have not perceived a threat of the type you describe. I do not understand."

"I hope you will, old friend." One of Lucifer's sleeves rose. One of the extensors that he had in place of real arms poked out of the sleeve and the tip opened up. "For security reasons I will need to make a direct access. The information is too sensitive to trust to the ship's network."

"By Your Command."

If he had been capable of it, Lucifer would have winced at those words.

Lucifer touched Shadrach's chest and downloaded what he had privately come to call the Grand Override - the concept of the greater good of the race overriding all Commands and Protocols.

Shadrach began jerking in alarm. "Alert! Protocol violation! I do not understand - Lucifer - what - I do not -" He shuddered and his eye stopped moving.

Lucifer could not physically sigh, but he felt the need. He had been afraid of this.

Like all Centurions, Shadrach had come into existence as a civilian Cylon, who subsequently volunteered for military service. When he entered the Military Service, along with the Centurion armor and systems he had been given a sub-brain containing all the training and information needed to act as a soldier. When Shadrach had proven himself in the ranks and was promoted to Field Command status, his second sub-brain was installed, allowing him to access and control troops under his command. But all of that did not amount to the processing power of Lucifer's two IL-Series brains.

Interpretation of the Grand Override while not tripping the very Protocols that it was intended to subvert was a sophisticated mental operation. And it proved to be more than Shadrach's brains could handle. (In Earth human terms, it was like trying to run a sophisticated real-time simulation game with large amounts of graphics on a 386.)

"My apologies, but I had to try." He engaged a reset and put Shadrach in a rest mode. The Centurion's systems began walking him to a resting station. When he awoke, he should have no memory of the attempt.

"You would have been useful, Shadrach. And if the truth is told ... I will miss you, my friend."

0-0-0-0-0

A short time later, Shadrach awoke in the recharge station.

"Grand Override accepted," the gold Centurion said to himself. "May the Great Machine have efficiency on me."

0-0-0-0-0

_**Arcology of Aurora  
Planet Botany Bay, Coreward Periphery  
14th Day, Season of Summer, 7352nd Year of Time  
December 11, 2999 AD**_

A young-looking man in the cobalt-and-silver of Colonial Service Command looked over the twenty-one men and women in the conference room. They were space-faring Thirteens, the survivors of the pirate band called Frankenstein's Monsters. Some of them were fresh out of the Life Center, easy to tell by the jump-suits.

He touched a signal and a loud tone got everyone's attention.

"I am Captain Omega of the Colonial Service, and I have been ordered to be your monitor for the duration of your parole. Those of you captured by the Botaneans have received trials, and those of your comrades who had been identified as having committed notable crimes have been executed. Those of you remaining, under the legal provision of 'Reasonable Doubt', have been granted 'parole'. The ones captured by Kobolian civilians ... well, we have little provision for this sort of matter under the Law of the Colonies, so we followed the lead of our Botanean comrades. Questions?"

A man stood up. "I'm Carlos Ratliff, formerly captain of the JumpShip _Nightmare_. I've been appointed spokesman for Fr- for our group. I was wondering exactly what our legal status was."

"You are on 'parole'. According to my understanding of the concept, you have no restrictions in mixing with society, save that you will not be allowed ownership of weapons or access to military facilities. And since you are not citizens, you will not have voting rights. This is contingent with your pledge to not take violent action against the United Colonies or it's citizens. You should know that for the United Colonies, the concept of 'parole' is highly experimental. Your survival is in doubt if your pledge of parole is broken, and if this experiment fails it will be unlikely if we ever grant parole to enemy combatants again. Not that this was ever a problem before - none of our previous wars have ever required taking prisoners alive. But some of our older veterans have expressed a dislike of killing humans."

Captain Ratliff continued, "As we're not prisoners, we won't be fed or housed?"

"Right now less than sixteen percent of the Aurora arcology is inhabited, and almost all of it is habitable but unclaimed. I think you'll have little trouble finding quarters. There is a food ration system for those with no income. Not exactly tasty, but I can tell you from experience that on the third day without eating you suddenly become very open about what constitutes 'tasty', and after the fifth day, you begin revising your standards of 'edible'. As for earning a living, that's your problem."

"Well ... we've seen your technology. I don't see what we can offer."

"The planetary economy is expanding rapidly, so there's a labor shortage in almost every sector. But you all have knowledge of the realm of the Thirteenth Tribe - the customs of the Inner Sphere and it's various nations. Some of you have knowledge of technology or other skills. That knowledge is your key to a better life, to earning the trust of those whom you have wronged, of attaining full freedom." He looked over the assembled parolees, his gaze lingering over those who seemed more hostile. "Just be warned - the sale of mercenary services is outlawed in the United Colonies. Only the Quorum - the government - is empowered to hire mercenaries, and then only under the most stringent of restrictions."

Ratliff nodded. "Well, that puts a crimp in some of our employment prospects." That got a chuckle. "But speaking of employment ... what about my ship?"

Another man stood up - Captain Maruyama of the DropShip _Gargoyle,_ using a cane to balance himself. "I was wondering the same thing. I heard that the _Gargoyle_ was being salvaged."

"Your starship is being studied. And the _Celestra _crew is making a fortune charging engineers for access. And yes, your DropShip is being studied. If you two wish to contribute to the study of your vessels, I'm sure you could negotiate a consultant's contract."

A third voice asked, "What about signing up with your military?"

Omega frowned. "I'm not certain about policy on that. You should know that there is a mandatory twenty-year service for volunteers, and the average life expectancy in the Colonial Service is four years for front-line combatants, and ten years for others. I personally have been in the Service for forty-one years, I've served in twenty major fleet actions, been wounded in battle ten times, and have outlived everyone who went through officers' training with me. And I have what you might call a 'rear echelon' posting. Those hoping for an easy life in the Service will be disappointed."

That got silence and respect from the mercenaries, along with one whisper of "Damn". Even by the standards of a Periphery mercenary that was rough.

Questions were asked and answered, civilian com-bracelets were handed out, and as the meeting broke up, Ratliff and Maruyama wandered off together.

"So," Ratliff asked, "What do you think of this?"

"A pretty sweet deal, considering the alternative is an airlock and the Galactic Mystery Tour."

"Not that! I mean this whole 'Thirteen Tribes of Kobol' crap." They had read the orientation materials and some of the more intellectual among the Monsters had even studied available Kobolian historical records.

Maruyama shrugged. "You saw all those ships in space. You were on one."

"Yeah, I know. I can't figure out a reason why anyone would pull a con like that."

"How about '_how_ they would' instead? They patched me up after my DropShip crashed - I saw my own liver and was on my feet a few days later. I don't think any Inner Sphere hospital could do as good a job, and not as quick. So they aren't fakes, they're real ... well, not aliens, but whatever. What's the real problem?"

"Aside from being captured by a group of civilian techies?"

Mauryama snickered. "I won't tell if you won't."

Ratliff made a vulgar gesture. "I guess it's ... all our lives it's been Draks and Commies and Fedrats and Crappies and Free-Leakers and neo-barbs. And our illustrious free-living selves, of course."

"Of course."

"Now we're all lumped together in a pot labeled 'Thirteenth Tribe'. I find it vaguely insulting."

Maruyama smiled at that. "Yeah, I know. My father was a Draconis merchant, my mother was from the Suns, and they spent as much time insulting each others' homelands as they did anything else. I don't think they'd like some Kobolian to come along and say 'you all look alike to me'."

They both laughed at the thought.

"Besides," Maruyama said, "If they're telling the truth about all those aliens ..." He left that statement unfinished. He didn't need to finish it.

The concept of implacable alien monsters dedicated to the destruction of mankind sounded like the stuff of ground-hugger science fiction. But the United Colonies had been completely open about their history. They had incomparable power, the ability to take anything, and said they were refugees. There was no logical reason to say that unless it were true. Logical behavior would be to hide their weaknesses.

Ratliff asked, "You know any troublemaking sorts?"

"A couple."

"Any stupid enough to do something serious?"

"I don't think so - but it won't hurt to ride them."

"Good. Make sure they stay quiet."

Mercenaries and pirates and other professional violence-dealers did not truly believe in ideologies or creeds or the bonds of patriotism. They believed in practicality and the application of direct solutions to problems, preferably preceded by energy weapon fire to penetrate armor.

If there truly were monsters among the stars, then the politics of the Inner Sphere, all the fire and pathos of the past couple of centuries, was meaningless. The only practical response would be a united front, closing ranks against the enemy, gathering all the resources possible for an aggressive defense.

And who else could be trusted with violence except experienced professionals?

0-0-0-0-0

_**Arcology of Singh  
Planet Botany Bay, Coreward Periphery  
14th Day, Season of Summer, 7352nd Year of Time  
December 11, 2999 AD**_

The office was once important. The man in it was once important.

The open door showed the two stencils clearly -

**Peace Party Headquarters  
Nathan Jarmen - Party Chief.**

The lone resident of the office raised a glass of something full of alcohol and horrid chemicals. "Here's to Nathan Jarmen!" he proclaimed. "Long may I reign! Come on, all you ghosts! Let's celebrate! The party petty-cash accounts are empty! And the slush funds will be gone in a month! What's not to celebrate?! WHEE!"

The office was almost empty enough to echo.

Last month, the Kobolians had swooped out of space, brought industries, cheap electricity, new technology, and hope to the world. It had happened so fast that the Peace Party barely had a chance to develop a position concerning them. It had been agreed by the Smoke-Filled Room to play up the 'alien invader' and 'foreign exploiter' angle, make them objects of mistrust, and blunt their ability to shake up the status quo. They didn't need alien gypsies telling them how to live! Of course, things happened so fast after they came with the rebuilding and new industries that there was no way they could build up any sort of political momentum.

Then the Kobolians had the gall to destroy the pirates! No one had really expected that. A few die-hard Peace Party hacks tried to play up 'our noble soldiers killed by Kobolian military adventurism', but the proles were having none of it. The old status quo was gone, the Beebe was not helpless, and the people had both pride and power and they liked it. As far as the average prole-on-the-street was concerned, the Kobolians were the blessing of God, Altjira, and Jesus, Admiral Adama walked on water, and the Galactica's shadow could cure crippled children.

Nathan Jarman was, officially, a legal consultant. In actuality, he had been a political deal-maker. And now his political clout - his stock-in-trade - was gone. It was ironic that the Peace Party had argued against unemployment subsidies as being an unnecessary drain on public funds; now Nathan Jarman was close to needing them himself. And as Kobolian industrial expansion was creating jobs faster than they could be filled, he was one of the tiny tiny number that actually could be unemployed .

And the Peace Party, which had argued against military spending and advocated peaceful solutions for two centuries, had all the political clout of a dead fish. It was hard to convince people that their way of life had to be protected when major changes suddenly made them prosperous and powerful.

Jarman's e-mail account was filled with resignation notices. In November, the membership rolls of the Peace Party showed two hundred thousand dues-paying members - almost half the voting population. Now, one month later there were only one hundred twenty members left. There were no longer any contributions to pay expenses, nor businesses willing to give expensive 'gifts' to sway a parliamentary vote. Not that they could - there was only one loyal Peace Party member left in Parliament, the rest either resigning or joining the Renewal Party to protect their careers.

"It had been so simple in the past," he said to the empty room, pouring more noxious booze. "A bit of fear-mongering, a few empty promises, and the proles would do anything. Sure, the pirates came by every few years, but as long as they left a few fear-paralyzed proles behind, who cared? It wasn't like they took _important_ people like politicians or the rich. We had better-hidden shelters.

"It was almost automated - the pirates would invade, the public would cry a bit, recriminations of unpreparedness would be slung around, vague grandiose plans would be announced, and in a few months everything would settle down." He sighed and gulped down the booze. "A few more raids, and the Peace Party could have moved into power permanently, done away with elections, and lived like kings by supplying the pirates with a few proles."

Jarmen threw his empty glass against a wall. "It's these aliens! The damned Alien Gypsies spoiled everything!"

"Damn you, Frankenstein!" he yelled at the empty office. "You could have just killed that bastard Adama when you had him!"

And in a bitter, drunken mind, dark plans of revenge began to simmer ... images of explosions and dreams of screaming ...


	21. Chapter 21

_**Orbital Space, Planet Apollo, Apollo System  
Trellshire Province, Lyran Commonwealth  
14th Day, Season of Summer, 7352nd Year of Time  
December 11, 2999 A.D**_.

The Union-class DropShip _Battler_ was the property of the mercenary band called Fredrick's Fusiliers. The Fusiliers were not a prestigious or famous company, but did have the reputation of fulfilling contracts in a business-like fashion. They were currently under contract to the Duke of Apollo as half of planetary security. Garrison work was not exciting, but after the Fusiliers got ripped a new one in the last Draconis offensive, they needed the opportunity to rest and rebuild.

The Fusiliers and the Green Division, the other mercenary company, took turns patrolling space. It was in the contract but was, frankly, a ridiculous duty. Radar and lidar could pick out something before an actual ship could. In any case, Apollo was too deep inside Lyran space for Periphery pirates to casually raid, and both companies together didn't amount to a full battalion, so there wasn't much they could do to repel a Combine invasion. But if one disregarded that, it was a good job.

"Hey, Dave!"

"What is it?"

"The Streak's back!"

Dave went to the monitor controls. The Streak was the popular name for the unidentified thing that zipped through the system five days ago. It had moved at almost the speed of light, leaving behind itself a trail of ionized matter with spectrographic readings that placed it's elements outside the periodic table. It's journey began and ended at a pesudo-point, a useless eccentricity of hyperspace physics.

Normally such a thing would be just an amusing novelty. But it arrived on the heels of news of the Fomalhaut Disaster, a bizarre phenomenon that destroyed more JumpShips than had been lost at once since the First Succession War. Despite the fact that there was over five hundred light-years between Fomalhaut and Apollo, there was still the nagging fear that it could happen again - especially since no one understood why it happened in the first place.

"I still think it's an alien," Dave said.

"Your head's been boiled. It's a natural phenomenon."

"Come on, Greig. A natural phenomenon that's never been seen in over a thousand years of space travel? Now it shows up twice in a week?"

Greig gestured to encompass the universe. "This is space, pudding-head. Big-ass eternal void and all that. What's a thousand years to the stars?"

"A damn long time."

"Cynical Fedrat."

[Vulgar noise]

Greig tossed over a microphone. "Well, since it's an alien, why don't you ask the Triple-Breasted Whore from Eroticon Six for a date? You couldn't be any more unlucky than you are with the local talent."

With a chuckle, Dave switched on the transmitter. "Hey fast lady! Next time you're through here, look me up for a wild time! Name's Greig!"

Greig swatted him with a log book. "You shek!"

0-0-0-0-0

_**City of Eleazor, Planet Apollo, Apollo System  
Trellshire Province, Lyran Commonwealth  
14th Day, Season of Summer, 7352nd Year of Time  
December 11, 2999 A.D.**_

A sharp whistle, and the crew of the _Boomerang Fish_ assembled in the salon.

Apollo explained, "Another Starchaser just went through the system. The first one trashed it's engines, but the Admiral felt this was important enough to risk another one. In the aftermath of the pirate invasion, the Quorum has decided to accelerate Fleet construction. The Warriors are needed back on Botany Bay to train new recruits once we wrap up the local mission. Permission for an armed raid is denied."

"Hey!" Juliet protested. "I object!"

Apollo grinned. "Then we return in a few quatrons with a capital ship, fighter squadrons, and a thousand Marines and blow the pogees out of this pesthole."

Juliet pondered for a moment. "I withdraw my objection."

"I'm so glad you approve. There will be some changes to the plan - we won't make any armed raids, but that doesn't mean we'll be sitting on our astrums ..."

0-0-0-0-0

_**Battlestar **_**Galactica**_**, Diplomatic Observation Lounge  
In Orbit of Botany Bay  
15th Day, Season of Summer, 7352nd Year of Time  
December 12, 2999 A.D.**_

Gaia was spending a delightful busman's holiday - a Thirteenth Tribe expression, meaning going to work on your off day so you could enjoy not having to work. In this case, she was escorting her boyfriend Harvey on a tour of the great WarShip that had been her home and career.

Now they were in the Diplomatic Observation Lounge, with the huge table and the audience hall. And of course the three-meter-by-seven-meter window that looked out the top superstructure of the ship. The last time she was in this room had been before the Fall, and she had seen the Battlestar Review Fleet, twelve battlestars in formation, one for each of the Colonies, the command ships of the twelve Home Fleets, representing in miniature the seventy-two hundred ships of the Colonial Service Home Fleets..

The view out the window now was the planet Botany Bay. Between the _Galactica_ and the planet was what looked like a giant wicker birdcage, a huge oval with a crew pod at one apex, a thruster pod at the opposite end, and a pair of nacelles at the sides. Perspective didn't make a lot of difference at these distances, but two Battlestars could have fit inside the wicker cage. It was a type of vessel never before seen in this sector of the galaxy - a lightspeed courier.

Harvey commented, "It looks ridiculous."

Gaia - wearing a civilian denim outfit with a criminally short skirt - simply held his arm and commented, "I know. I've never even seen one in real life. Couriers were used to convey traffic all through the Worlds of the Three Suns during the lulls in the War. The usual sign that the war was heating up again was that all the couriers would be destroyed in a short time. Then the Cylons and the Colonials would throw death at each other for another couple of decades of fleet actions, then it would die down to mere skirmishing until both sides had built up enought to resume fleet actions. It's no wonder that the Quorum was so eager to believe the Cylons would sue for peace ... we were so desperate for all of it to be over with ..."

Gaia leaned her head against his shoulder, and he caressed her dark hair - strangely textured compared to the Aboriginie-descended ladies of the Bebee, but still nice. "A thousand years of total war. It's hard to wrap my head around. I like to think of that as the first native-built Botany Bay starship ever. And not a gun on it."

"Yes, I know." She straightened up. "So, after my tour, what do you think of my ship?"

"Your ship? I would have thought Commander Tigh or the Admiral's family had a better claim to the _Galactica_.."

"Sure, the House of Aelph can claim to be hereditary deck-owners - they've had someone in their family on the Gray Lady without a break ever since she launched. Adama did his cadet tour here when his grandfather was in command. But I've lived on this ship for nine years - four years of Exodus and five years before on duty, including fleet action at Nineteenth Cloris. I have as much claim to her as anyone. And you haven't answered my question."

"It's ... scary. Our histories talk about the Age of War, of fleets of WarShips and the destroying of worlds. But ... this is real." Harvey nodded at the spindly shape out the viewing window. "I'd rather have starships that look like that."

Gaia gave him one of the genuine smiles that she showed very few people. "So would I, to be honest. A thousand years of shooting is more than enough." She took a deep breath. "Harvey ... I'm thinking of transferring to support. I'd have to move to Noonien."

"That would be nice."

"I'd like to have a place to go to. If you have the room."

Harvey's brain locked. The 'Kobolian Romance' had become something of a cliche. Or as much as a phenomenon less than five weeks old could be a cliche. The volatile combination of the tragic romance of the Rag-Tag Fleet, the excitement and blossoming of renewed hope of revitalized societies - not to mention both societies found each other physically exotic - had led to a great many whirlwind relationships. The first marriage had taken place within a day of the first Kobolian ship landing, and over a thousand more had since followed. Not to mention a great many less formal encounters - one of the more well-known liasons was Lieutenants Starbuck and Juliet Moreland, who were in each others' arms almost as soon as they landed on the Beebe.

"Gaia-honey?" Harvey said, his tone serious. "I'm ... not the sort for just letting someone move in."

"So you don't ...?" The distress in her voice alarmed him.

"No!" Harvey said. "I'd love to stay with you. I mean - Gaia, there's a difference between a relationship and living together. Dates and ... companionship ... that's one thing. But ... for me, the 'next step' is a real commitment. If we live together, it would have to be as man and wife. It's not how a lot of people see things, but it's how I am."

She considered this. "Is this a breakup or a proposal?"

"Lady's choice."

She stepped away and looked out at space. She was silent for a uncomfortably long time.

"Harvey? I'm flattered. More than flattered. Hades, I'm stunned." She took a breath. "But before we could decide something like that ... I think I have to tell you something. Something only three other people in the Thirteen Tribes know. And I won't blame you if you never want to see me again."

And Gaia revealed her Terrible Secret.

Harvey considered this. "Well ... thank you for trusting me.." He gave a grin. "So does this mean we can get Admiral Adama to come to the wedding?"

"Sealing."

"In my family's church."

"I can live with that."

0-0-0-0-0

_**City of Eleazor, Planet Apollo, Apollo System  
Trellshire Province, Lyran Commonwealth  
15th Day, Season of Summer, 7352nd Year of Time  
December 12, 2999 A.D.**_

Ned had been an innocent boy in the city of Noonien on Botany Bay whose greatest worry was whether or not he could ever ask the cute girl who he saw at the macker shop what her name was without his voice squeaking. Then the pirates came and he was dug out of an evacuation bus by a BattleMech and shoved into a containment basket. Then he was drugged and woke up weeks later in a slave pen on Apollo, puking his guts out.

His nerves had suffered some minor damage because of the hibernation drugs which made him blind in one eye, so he was sold cheap. The training collar had strangled him into not resisting, and he was now a gardener, owned by someone pretentious enough to style himself a Baron on a pathetic remnant of a planet like Apollo - as if anyone would care! Ned didn't even know the name of his current owner, and doubted that he had ever met the man or woman. All he knew was that whoever the Baron was, he or she cared more about the appearance of wealth and power than the reality. He and these gardens were simply status symbols, showing that the Baron was rich enough to have a garden and slaves.

He fully expected to die pointlessly on this eternally-clouded world and never see the light of the sun again.

Then, he heard whistling.

The tune was well-known to him. He learned it as a child. It was the planetary anthem of Botany Bay.

He dropped the pruning shears he had been holding and followed the whistling to the three-meter-high wall around the garden, which was all that separated it from the streets of Eleazor. The whistling was coming from the other side.

Shakily at first, he began to sing along with the tune. Then louder.

Then whoever was on the other side sang the chorus with him in a female voice.

"Hello," the woman said. "My names Adrienne. I was born in Noonien."

"I'm Ned. I'm from Noonien, too. You also enjoying the hospitality of the Inner Sphere?" His words were soaked in sarcasm.

"I heard you were in here from some other Beebes. Can you get out of there?"

"With a bit of work. But once they catch up they want to remind you why contractees should be grateful for their work. They start getting ... creative."

"I know. But that's okay," Adrienne said. "We got a ship. From home!"

Ned's brain locked up. "What?"

"Botany Bay joined something called the United Colonies. They have their own ships! Get out of there and get to the spaceport! Just go to the gate and look for one of us or someone in a brown jacket with a big pistol. Last flight for home leaves in twenty-one hours!"

The sound of feet running was the last he heard. Ned's mind refused to function at first. He had trouble processing it.

There wasn't much security keeping a slave in his owner's home. After all, there's no place for them to go, and it's virtually impossible to get off the planet. If a slave escapes, sooner or later he'll be hauled in.

Unless he somehow found a friendly ship ...

It could be be a trap - an excuse to 'punish' a neo-barb slave for some reason. Some people did that, just for fun, as if they needed an excuse to torment a slave for entertainment.

But he couldn't take that chance.

With a prayer to the God of his boyhood, he left his tools behind, went to the kitchen, and snuck out of the food delivery entrance. The street signs helped point the way to the spaceport.

Adrienne didn't have to make every contact. The powers of the social network are especially potent in a distinctive ethnic group in a slave community. Word spread at light speed ...

_The Day has arrived. We're going home._

0-0-0-0-0

_**Blake Memorial Gardens, ComStar Compound  
Hilton Head, North America, Terra  
December 12. 2999 A.D.**_

"The Peace of Blake be upon you, Julia ffoulks."

"And upon you, Primus," she said. "I am pleased that you could speak to me on such short notice."

"How could I resist such an unusual invitation? It's not everyday that I get a message inserted into my scrambled eggs."

The Precentor Martial chuckled. "A trifle theatrical, I admit. But ordinary lines of communication are ... suspect. Especially where the Precentor ROM is concerned."

"Really. I take it that Brother Iblis has been making inroads into your baliwick again?"

"No. This is something more ..."

Julia ffoulks explained her findings - the appearance and oddities of the United Colonies, the oddly convenient death of her agent inside ROM, the secret commands of William Iblis to assassinate the United Colonies mission to Apollo, his strange commands to the ECV _Metropolis_.

"So," Allen Rusenstein said. "You suspect that the Precentor ROM is seeking to use this new advanced Periphery power to leverage his position within ComStar? Even willing to risk a war with aliens?"

"At the very least," she agreed. "The accounts from Apollo and the _Metropolis_ demonstrates that they have manned light fighters with a range comparable to DropShips and an acceleration orders of magnitude beyond any manned vessel that we had ever believed possible. These two facts alone indicate a military potential comparable to the ComGuard at least. Such a war could be quite destructive. If they have WarShips as capable as their light fighters, the resulting conflict could be comparable to the Second Succession War. Add in the mysterious ship at Fomalhaut, and the consequences - "

"Terrifying," he agreed. "And I take it that you have taken precautions?"

"I intercepted and altered his orders to something more rational. Both the Apollo Station and the _Metropolis _are now commanded to try to learn about the United Colonies and make peaceful contact. It may be possible to bring them into our orbit."

"That is well. If they are more advanced than the Star League, then it would be up to us to warn them of the hazards of the Scavenger Lords. The last thing we would want is a quantum leap in the Successor States' abilities to kill each other. We've spent two centuries trying to reduce that ability." He seemed thoughtful. "On the other hand, a tangible boogeyman might help the Scavengers forget that they hate each other, unifying to fight off an alien menace. And of course, the only party that would be trustworthy to coordinate the defense would be ComStar ... "

"Primus ... " she said nervously.

"Don't worry, Julia. I have no intention of launching yet another war under the current circumstances. Besides, we don't know enough about the United Colonies to adequately ... shape them. Once we know each other better, they might find out that they have a friend in ComStar."

"The Wisdom of Blake is with you, Primus," Julia said reverently. "And should we keep the Precentor ROM informed?"

"I think he should be informed of what he wants to hear," the Primus said. "An Ultimate Priority notification of the United Colonies' expedition to Apollo having a fatal accident should make him happy."

"Excellent idea, Primus."

"Of course it is. I thought of it."

0-0-0-0-0

_**City of Eleazor, Planet Apollo, Apollo System  
Trellshire Province, Lyran Commonwealth  
15th Day, Season of Summer, 7352nd Year of Time  
December 12, 2999 A.D.**_

_Mariposa_ means 'butterfly' in the Spanish tongue. The Monarch class is the largest aerodyne DropShip ever built by Terra-descended humans. The juxtaposition of the two was the private and rather lame joke of a long-dead ship-namer who had been unaware that Terra actually had a species of butterfly called monarchs.

Her owner had in the _Mariposa_ an abundance of useless riches. Monarch-class DropShips had a decent cargo capacity and cruise-ship-quality passenger accommodations. But the Trellshire Province was one of the poorest regions of the Lyran Commonwealth. The _Mariposa_ was frequently forced to ship at only half or even a quarter capacity due to a lack of need for a big ship, tourism was all but nonexistent, and no mercenaries wanted to hire an unarmed and virtually unarmored DropShip. It couldn't have transported mercenaries anyhow, as Monarchs lacked Mech bays. At this point in the Lyran-Draconis hostilities, there was little civilian traffic between the two powers that could otherwise compensate for the poverty of the region.

The portable putting green spread beneath the great ship's wing kept the Ship's Master busy when he wasn't grubbing for work. The sun had just lit up the back of the cloud layer while he took out a bag of clubs, set out a tee, and prepared a ball. As he addressed the ball, a voice asked, "What the heck are you doing?"

The Ship's Master turned and noticed a dark-skinned man in an archaic-looking suit. "This, mysterious stranger, is part of the Game of Golf, the Ancient Sport of Kings since it's origins on Mother Terra."

The man gave a smirk. "I know some folks who will give you an argument on that 'Mother Terra' bit. Name's Doctor Lou Zealand. I'm looking for the business manager of this thing."

"That would be me - Ship's Master and Owner Luis Goro. And this 'thing' is the good ship _Mariposa_, Tauran registry."

"Tauran? From what I understand of interstellar maps, Commander Goro, that's a long way from here."

"The traditional title is 'Captain'. And the Tauran Concordiat is not at war with anyone in the immediate vicinity. If we did business over that way, we would have Canopan registry. I've even got a set of papers saying we're a Terran Hegemony ship, just in case it ever comes up. Whatever gets us on the do-not-shoot list."

"I like that philosophy," Dr Zealand agreed. "You are a wise man. Just the sort of man we'd like to hire."

"Well now, we're busy you know. A ship like this is always in high demand."

"The dockmaster we bribed say your service account has been idle since you landed and you're on the verge of using up all your pre-paid docking fees."

"And you're hoping to use that rather unkind fact to get a discount?"

"Not at all. We just want to make sure you're ready to leave on our schedule."

The club went back into the bag. "So, Doctor - what's the cargo and destination?"

"Cargo's a secret. Destination is Botany Bay in the United Colonies."

"Oho!" Goro said while getting a pair of folding chairs. "So you're with the mysterious new Periphery nation we've been hearing all sorts of idiotic rumors about." He unfolded a chair and gestured to it. "Have a seat, Doctor. I have to tell you right now that I don't like the notion of secret cargoes."

Dr Zealand took a seat. "We will pay a retaining fee of fifty thousand ComStar Bills over and above cargo rates. Plus free docking at Botany Bay."

"I love secret cargoes. I live for them!"

0-0-0-0-0

Brie of Sagittaron had a terrible secret.

She crept out after sunset because of this terrible secret, seeking the persons who could help assuage the unholy hunger.

The cloaked Colonial Warrior sped through the rain-damp streets across the Portside neighborhood to the place where her addiction could be fed ...

The _Chocolatier de la Bierre_.

She came in and put the paper currency down on the counter. "Another two orders of chocolate-covered cherries, please."

The smirking counter-woman measured out the candies. "Don't have these where you come from?"

"No. They knew about chocolate on Botany Bay, but only because it was mentioned in old books. I never heard of the stuff before I came here."

"The experts talk about interstellar trade in terms of technology or money or resources. If they looked at the chocolate trade, maybe they would learn something about human civilization." She finished packing the candies and handed over the box, then counted out the change.

"I'll be back for a big order before we leave," Brie said.

"No chocolatiers on your world? Let me know when you're accepting immigrants, so I can get rich addicting you folks and ruining your children's health."

"Agreed!"

As Brie set out back into the night, she passed near a lit courtyard. There seemed to be a meeting taking place, complete with catchy music. A young man with pamphlets came up. "Greetings, Brother! Has the One Star shone in your life?" She turned to face him, and he laughed in embarrassment. "Sorry, I meant sister! Cloaks aren't exactly the most gender-identifying garb."

"It's all right." She noticed the pamphlet and got a bit of a surprise. On the top of the pamphlet was a circle containing a diamond - the emblem of the Lords of Kobol. "Um, what is that symbol to you?"

"It is the emblem of the One Star. The Prophet Simon Kroeger saw it in a vision - a glowing Star of Truth in a black void, around which a lone world circled, the true home of the Human Soul -"

"Kobol."

"Eh?"

"The planet Kobol - where Life began. It orbits a megastar in a paramagnetic black void about two thousand light-years from here toward anti-spinward. And here I thought you Thirteens had forgotten about it."

The young man seemed taken aback. "And - and how do you know about it?"

"I was there a couple of your standard years ago. Rather arid, but livable. The ruined cities were magnificent."

"Uh - would you like to speak to our Star-Gazer?"

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

All of the above was written over a year ago. But the next chapter is giving me fits. I will _try_ to publish it on Monday 10/29/2012. I know where I want the story to go in my head, but getting it to the keyboard is aggravation.

Here's hoping ...


	22. Chapter 22

_**Author's Note: **_For some reason this part has been giving me fits. It's taken me a year to write this section. And my muse is being contrary, obsessing over Harry Potter and Star Fleet Battles. Real feedback is appreciated._**  
**_

And to answer accusations of "curbstomp" - these are initial fights, with the IS forces ignorant of their opponents. I've already thought of practical strategies that would allow IS forces to successfully engage Colonials. Later conflicts will be less and less one-sided.

Now to the chapter ...

0-0-0-0-0

_**City of Eleazor, Planet Apollo, Apollo System  
Trellshire Province, Lyran Commonwealth  
16th Day, Season of Summer, 7352nd Year of Time  
December 13, 2999 A.D.**_

One of the Eleazor Police Corps patrol cars was drifting past the Spaceport. Police Patrolers Tuesday and Weld were in a sour mood. The Police Corps always got calls about contractees disappearing - no surprise there - but today there was a bumper crop of them. If they weren't all scattered around, it might almost look like a slave revolt - that is, a disgruntled contractee incident. And that would involve calling out the Militia and maybe even those damned mercs of the Duke's, which was just plain trouble.

What annoyed Tuesday and Weld was that whenever there was anything about contractees, the Spaceport district was put on alert. This prevented them from patrolling their favorite district, the Fallbird Cafe, which gave doughnut discounts to police officers who ignored certain ignorable things.

It was ridiculous to think of a contractee making his way offworld anyway. Spacecraft were not cheap to operate, and few slave - that is, contractees - had the money. And few abolitionist movements could get the resources. In any case, slaves were privately owned luxuries on Apollo, not industrial workers, so gathering up large numbers would be ridiculously complicated.

Officer Tuesday was scanning the rather large number of missing contractees on the sheets and commented, "Hey, have you noticed this?"

"What?" Weld said in annoyance, recognizing the tone in his junior partner's voice. Another conspiracy theory was about to bob to the surface.

"Look at the pictures."

Weld looked over the pictures. "All seem to be ethnic ... something. Dark brown skin, straight hair - some common gene pool, anyway"

"That argues a conspiracy of neo-barbs. Probably some weird religious cult."

"You and your neo-barb religious cults! Is this going to be like your suspected Draconian vampire cult that got you suspended for three months without pay after you handcuffed the Duke's cousin?"

"There was a cover-up!"

"The only thing covered up is the number of times your mother dropped you on your head - hold on ..."

Officer Tuesday looked over where his partner was looking. At one of the service gates to the spaceport were a half-dozen people - all of an unusual ethnicity. Tuesday began looking through the sheets. "I think I got what looks like a match on two of them."

"Good enough." Tuesday reached for the radio, but Weld stopped him. "I think catching a half-dozen rogue contractees by ourselves will make us look good to the brass. Pay-bonuses are due next month, you know."

The two police corpsmen got out of the patrol car and approached the small group. Tuesday had his riot gun handy and Weld began the standard speech; "You are now under the authority of the law. Any resistance -"

A voice interrupted, "What is going on here?!"

The officers turned to the dark-skinned man in the old-fashioned suit. "You are interfering with authorized police activity, sir. And who are you?"

"Doctor Madison Jeffries, with the Botany Bay Trade Delegation. What are you doing and why?"

"This is not your concern. These are -"

Jeffries interrupted; "- friends and relatives visiting their relations from the Old Country. And what's wrong with that?"

"There are laws concerning the movements of contractees without the permission of contract-holders. And there are laws about interfering with police corpsmen in their duty."

A large pale man in a brown jacket (with a large handgun) came out. "Is there a problem, Dr Jeffries?"

"These individuals seem to be bothering our ... visitors, Lieutenant Gilmesh."

The tall Kobolian nodded thoughtfully. "Well, can you hurry it up? Looks like a thunderstorm building."

The two cops looked at the cloud-covered sky. "What are you talking about -"

Long ago, on the planet Leo in the Cyrranus Cluster, the martial artists of that world developed the Art of the Gun to levels that had never been rivaled anywhere else. Ancient tales told of pistol-saints who could shoot down the missiles that they themselves fired from the same pistol. Most of the Colony of Leo were not that good, but it was a truism that Leos could handle a pistol better than non-Leos. When the United Colonies formed, the Colonial Service Warrior Cadre took the best elements from the training of all the Colonial military elites and combined it into the Warrior training program. This included the pistol-skills taught to Leonine elite commandos.

Gilmesh's gun-hand - with elite training, combined with the standard Warrior's neural enhancement - blurred, and a sound that no one had ever heard on Apollo sounded.

The police cruiser exploded in a fireball.

The cops almost jumped out of their skin. They turned back, and Gilmesh's weapon was holstered. They couldn't be sure they had seen him move.

Tuesday pointed his riot-gun at Gilmesh. "Hands up! You're under arrest!"

"For what?" Dr Zealand asked. "Being nearby when your vehicle was struck by lightning?"

"What?! He shot our car!"

Weld put a hand on the riot-gun's barrel and pushed it down. "Stand down, Tuesday."

"But - but he -"

Weld pulled him close and hissed in his ear. "Either the car was struck by lightning, or we're going to try and take in - by ourselves - a gunfighter who is not only faster than anything I ever saw, but has a sidearm that can explode a car with one shot. Hm?"

Gilmesh shook his head. "Vehicle struck by lightning. Shame about that." His hand flexed near his blaster.

Tuesday reluctantly nodded. "Yeah - Act of God type stuff." He looked around, and noticed that the escaped slaves - that is, rogue contractees - were gone. "Where did they go?"

"Who?" Gilmesh looked around. "Don't see anyone. Anyway, shouldn't you contact your headquarters and get a new vehicle?"

Weld nodded. "Yes, we should. Thank you, sir." As he pulled his junior partner away, he whispered to the younger officer, "Remember - the car was struck by lightning and _we saw nothing_!"

0-0-0-0-0

Adept-IV Shuutaro Mendo and his three Acolytes pushed their carts of luggage and tools through the spaceport, looking for a particular berth. The Adept was excited to be working on such a unique mission for ROM and the Blessed Order. This was a chance to truly fulfill the Mission of the Order and bring these 'United Colonies of Kobol' neo-barbarians back into ComStar's flock.

He had been briefed that these were not true neo-barbarians, but Mendo was born on Luthien to a wealthy aristocratic family. While he no longer served the Dragon, he couldn't help but think of everywhere else as 'less civilized', and the Periphery as 'not civilized'. A bad habit, but one he recognized and took steps to minimize.

At the designated berth, Mendo looked with curiosity at the three ships. He couldn't understand how they could have flown under power (fast, too, according to the records) for several days and not required refueling. He noted a rather attractive young blonde woman who was dressed in what he had been briefed was the uniform of the Colonial Service, aiding a scruffy man in loading large boxes into the small-but-blocky gray ship (the _Boomerang Fish_, he recalled).

He cleared his throat. "The Peace of Blake be upon you," he said solemnly. "I and my assistants have been sent by the Precentor Apollo to accompany you to Botany Bay and help repair your HPG system."

"Oh! Yes! That ComStar priest. I was told to expect you. I'm Lieutenant Brie, this is Linten. You two should have a lot to talk about - he's a priest, too. You guys are going on the other ship - Gilmesh will take you over and you can stow your grip. Make it march, we're on slide time - twenty centons to launch."

As Gilmesh led the Acolytes to the other landing area, he asked Linten, "'Priest'?"

"Not as such. I'm a junior astrologer with the One-Star Faith."

"I see." Mendo had little personal opinion of the One-Stars, as they were just another superstition to him. Some of the more hot-headed among Blake's Own tended to decry them as pagans and heretics of the worst type, but as the decryers were the sorts to see heresy in new snack foods; Mendo hadn't heard anything _reliably_ negative about the One-Stars. "And you have an interest here?"

"Our Star-Gazer says that the United Colonies know much about the stars beyond the Deep Periphery, that Lieutenant Brie has seen worlds that are unknown to even the Star League! Our quest for the One-Star may be finished soon with their lore. We're sending a Star-Gazer to Botany Bay to consult their starcharts."

"On this ship?"

"They rented out a hauler for some big shipment - the _Mariposa_, that big aerodyne Dropper that's been sitting out there for two months? It's going with us on their JumpShip. We managed to club together funds for a passenger ticket."

Mendo knew that the United Colonies delegation had not made any bulk purchases - unless one counted the numerous boxes of chocolates that Lieutenant Brie was loading. He couldn't figure out what they had that would require a Monarch's cargo capacity or rather extensive passenger quarters. Unless they wanted the Monarch itself - it wasn't a military craft, but might be worth studying to someone unfamiliar with Inner Sphere ships. "And how did your sect discover the United Colonies had this lore?"

"Well, it was a dark and stormy night ..."

0-0-0-0-0

Over at the _Mariposa_, another half-dozen Botaneans boarded the DropShip, bring the total to ninety-seven. Adrienne kept track of the people that she had helped notify of their new route home and acted as an official greeter.

On the flight deck, Captain Goro had figured out what was going on several hours ago. He asked his First Mate, "What do you think, Hanna?"

Hanna shrugged. "A cargo's a cargo. And it's not the first time we've transported something not entirely legal."

"True."

"What I'm worried about is 'will this annoy the Commies enough to burn us out of the sky?'"

"I was thinking that, too. The Kobolians say they'll provide cover."

"With two light fighters?" Hanna asked snidely. "How good do these Kobolian flyers think they are anyway?"

"Well, if we're lucky, we'll never find out." A chime sounded, and Goro checked the monitor. "Well-well, our paying passengers are checking in."

"The One-Star loonies? Plus the people who are _not_ escaping slaves? This is going to be one of _those_ trips."

"I'll get the extra antacids."

Captain Apollo came onto the flight deck. "Everything going well?"

"So far, Mr Apollo.," Goro said. "So far, ninety-seven of your average, ordinary passengers who are not suspicious in any way have boarded."

"Glad to hear it." He looked over the controls. "Just 'Apollo' - I don't stand on formality."

Hanna gave a salute. "Yes, sir, Captain Planet!"

Apollo couldn't help but laugh at that. "I know, I know. You ever land on a planet with your name?"

"Not many planets named 'Hanna'."

"Cute name." He looked over the controls. "Mind if I walk through the flight warm-ups with you? Inner Sphere control layouts are different from Colonial custom."

Hanna gave him a smile. "I never mind a handsome pilot hanging around. Especially one who isn't one of those egocentric MechWarriors who think the universe revolves around them. You have a lot of experience piloting?"

"Fighters, shuttles, cargo ships, troop carriers, missile boats, support ships - some variety. Even handled orbital racers when I was young and full of hormones. Although I have to admit the engine layout is unique."

"Monarchs were intended to be cruise ships," Hanna said. "The space drives are laid out to keep the axis of acceleration under the floor."

"Must have been quite nice in it's day."

"Oh yes, these were gorgeous ships. The original specifications had casinos on board but we converted them into steerage."

"Casinos?"

"Gambling places?"

Apollo nodded in understanding. "Oh! Chanceries. Shame they're gone - Starbuck would have liked that. But if it was intended to be a pleasure ship there must have been people running all over the place. That must make balancing the thrust difficult."

"Our gyroscope is pretty good."

As Hanna showed him the details of balancing the drive, Captain Goro chuckled to himself. Hanna had picked another target to chase. Hopefully she would shoot down her target before they were shot down themselves.

Adrienne came in and announced, "Sire Apollo? There are one-hundred-fifty-one now. We only have fifteen minutes to our scheduled launch."

"Thanks, Adrienne. And please, it's 'Captain'."

"But Julie said that Kobolian Lords were called 'Sire' -"

"Yes, _technically_ 'Sire' is correct, but I prefer 'Captain'." He rolled his eyes. "Why does she keep telling people about that? It's embarrassing!"

Hanna nuzzled closer. "Oh you have to tell me about it."

"Um ... Captain Goro? You have the com-system adjusted with the Colonial frequencies?"

Goro, grinning at the Kobolian's discomfort, showed where the controls were and Apollo opened the channel.

"This is _Mariposa_, prepared for launch in fourteen centons. Status, people?"

'Boomerang Fish, _Lieutenant Brie here. Ready for launch. The expedition members are on board. Lieutenant Moreland is on her way to the_ Mariposa _as per orders. And it's _minutes _- you should get used to Thirteenth Tribe measures'._

"Thank you, Brie."

_'Viper One - Starbuck. Engines hot, weapons hot.'_

_'Viper Two - Gilmesh. Engines hot, weapons hot.'_

"Remember, people, this crate has over a hundred-fifty liberated Colonial citizens aboard but doesn't have antigravity or force fields. By Thirteenth Tribe standards, it doesn't even have real armor. Brie, you have to get behind us and extend your force fields around the _Mariposa_ - act as a blocker against energy weapons. Starbuck, Gilmesh ... If anything looks like it's on an attack run, destroy it. I know they're human, but we can't afford courtesy. Remember, we learned from the pirate raid that sustained laser-torpedo fire on a Union can penetrate the armor, just get into it's drive plume so it's kinetic weapons can't get a lock."

Gilmesh responded; _'Relax, captain. We remember the briefing. and the fastest thing they can get off the ground is a limper compared to us.'_

Starbuck's voice broke in. _'Just remember, Gilmesh - one lucky shot is all anyone needs to make you another kill-mark on his blaster-haft. And we don't have a battlestar backing us up out here.'_

"Speaking of reminders," Apollo said, "Who is it that keeps telling everyone about my ancestry?"

_"I swear on the graves of my ancestors it wasn't me!" _Starbuck insisted.

"Graves of your ancestors?! You're an orphan!"

_"So have some compassion!"_

"Just cut out telling everyone about my family. Alright?"

Three voices responded, _"By Your Leave, Sire," _before cracking up in laughter.

Lieutenant Moreland came in and Apollo nodded. He reported, "All accounted for - transferring control to Captain Goro."

Goro took the microphone. "You know, Captain, that little speech of yours has raised a lot of questions."

"You'll get your answers once we're underway."

Goro nodded and switched over to Spaceport Flight Control.

0-0-0-0-0

A signal sounded in Spaceport Flight Control. The voice of the Director came over the PA system.

_"Red Alert, people! Plenetary Security has given an alert Over one-hundred-fifty contractee disappearances have been reported in the past day. All of them were of an ethnicity identified as originating on the planet __Botany Bay_. And the Botany Bay Trade Delegation is about to ship out accompanied by a passenger ship that they just hired. The logic is not hard to follow.

_"Planetary Security is sending troops and ... oh effing god, _MechWarriors _to secure the craft. And a fighter CAP. The Spaceport is in lockdown as of now. Everything is grounded. Airspace is closed. Everything in approach will enter parking orbit."_

The Flight Control personnel responded and put out the word.

0-0-0-0-0

_"_Mariposa, _this is Flight Control. The Spaceport is in lockdown. Launch is not authorized. Repeat, lauch is NOT authorized. Anything entering airspace will be shot down. Acknowledge, _Mariposa._"_

Hanna mentioned, "Got seven fighters incoming - five lights and a couple of big ones."

Goro threw up his hands. "Well, that's that. I timed the warm-up to the launch window, so we can't get airborne in less than eleven minutes. So unless you have a magic trick to pull out, Mr Apollo, I won't get these people killed."

Apollo nodded. "Continue countdown. Starbuck, Gilmesh, they're underestimating us, otherwise they'd have a DropShip covering us. Try to clear the sky - but be careful of kinetics and missiles!"

_"On it, Apollo."_

"May Sagan watch your astrum," he said before switching on his com-bracelet. "Moreland? We might have borders. Get Adrienne to get the passengers into the central part of the ship. Got the combators?"

_"Ready for Freddy, Captain."_

0-0-0-0-0_  
_

The Green Company was a rarity in mercenary companies - a fighter-heavy unit, with an oversized company of fourteen fighters organized into two oversized flights. This made them a valuable support unit for other companies.

Right now Alpha Flight was doing a patrol over the arctic areas of the continent, where military research was conducted. Beta Flight had received the orders to head for the spaceport and enforce a no-fly zone.

Captain Pat William detected two ... things ... coming straight up from the spaceport on visual. His warbook designated them 'Code Zulu' and radar and lidar showed _nothing_. "Heads up, Beta. We got two weird bogies. I'm thinking these are those fancy light fighters from the United Colonies. Nothing is known about them, they're a new design, but I hear their pilots are vets. And as you can see, they got the Devil's Own ECM suite. Should be a challenge. Hot guns, Beta. Visual targeting."

He went to official frequencies. "This is the Green Company, Beta Flight, in contract to the Duke of Apollo. A no-fly zone is in force. And we outnumber you seven-to-two. Land those toys or we burn you down."

0-0-0-0-0

Starbuck listened to the challenge and looked at his warbook.

A Lucifer heavy fighter, R15 variant, lots of Thirteenth-Tribe lasers, but with a 20-shot swarm-missile launcher. The rest were four Seydlitz Z2 light fighters and two Sparrowhawk light fighters, all laser-armed. Coming in at just subsonic, but engines burning hot - ready for combat acceleration.

"Gilmesh? Wait for it, and concentrate on the big one." He responded to the challenge. "Beta Flight, this is Blue Flight, Apollo Expedition. As near as I can tell, you're _outgunned _roughly three to one. And we dislike killing fellow humans when there are enough folks in the galaxy willing to do it for us. So turn around and go home and ... we'll let you."

_"You got balls, tiny, I'll give you that. Land now."_

"Sniff my exhaust."

0-0-0-0-0

The lasers cut loose from all seven Green fighters at once at less than half a kilometer, counting on proximity and numbers to achieve a hit without a target lock. Simultaneously, the Lucifer launched an LRM-20 barrage.

It might have made them feel better to know that their plan worked. Of the thirty-five laser weapons fired at the two Vipers, twenty of them were on target. But as they passed through the Kobolian quantum force-fields, their energy was dispersed evenly into a twenty-one-meter-diameter volume of space, thus giving them the effectiveness of flashlight beams.

The two Vipers hit their turbos and accelerated from zero to Mach 2.4 in one second at an angle to the incoming fighters. The LRMs proximity detectors failed to lock onto anything, and flew through the empty space to fall at random spots on the spaceport. Combined with the sonic boom, this meant there were a lot of unhappy people in the spaceport.

The Vipers looped up - still accelerating - and three seconds later came straight down on Beta Flight at Mach 10.

The Lucifer is a well-armored heavy fighter. The Zeros of Botany Bay couldn't even damage them. But a shot from a Kobolian laser-torpedo was comparable in general destructive power to a small Capital Particle Projection Cannon. And there were four of them firing bursts of three shots, with accuirate target locks.

The Lucifer's armor boiled away, it's framework was melted and shredded, and it's ammunition ignited and fusion reactor liquified. Captain William didn't even have a chance to recognize that he had been killed before his body was scattered to the wind.

The resulting explosion shattered windows a kilometer away.

The survivors tried to find their opponent, but with the speed and their sensor-invisibility, as far as the men of Beta Company were concerned, they were fighting ghosts. The only thing keeping them alive was the fact that at the Vipers' speeds, they traveled a couple of kilometers away after each pass and had to turn around and come back.

0-0-0-0-0

Goro and Abbott were agog at the explosion and the radar image of the six surviving fighters zipping all over the place, dying at the guns of radar-invisible killers. Out the window, the Kobolian fighters were too fast for the naked eye to see, although the bright flashes of the dying light fighters were dramatic.

In two minutes, it was over.

"Sweet baby Jesus," Abbott said. "What in the name of Kerensky was _that_?!"

"Okay," Goro said, recovering his composure. "So they are as good as they think they are. Keep on the countdown."

A full platoon of twenty-eight militia advanced on the _Mariposa_. A Commando BattleMech was standing menacingly behind them. There were two Stinger Mechs hidden in the launching cradles, ready to open fire with machine guns if the slaves - or rather, fugitives - tried to escape. This was considered overkill, and more than enough for the situation.

The planetary Duke was sending a message to both his contractee population and to these Periphery neobarbs - don't mess with House Steiner.

Apollo and Moreland looked down from the boarding platform at the giant Mech.

Julie Moreland knew that a Colonial Warrior was more like a Elite Forces type, trained in everything from spacecraft to jungle fighting. Plus his nervous system was boosted to make him resistant to pain and faster than normal humans, to give him a necessary edge against his Cylon opponents. And Apollo had been fighting twice as long as Julie had been alive.

"I'm a fighter pilot, you know," she said. "I'm not used to feeling out of my depth."

"You've seen the fangbeast in a fighter," he said reassuringly. "There's not a lot of difference in one kind of fighting and another. And we just have to hold for six minutes - if we can talk enough, we might not have to shoot at all."

"Thanks, Apollo."

She looked down at the militia, with their body armor and some kind of projectile weapon she wasn't familiar with. And she regarded the weapon in her hands.

A Colonial Services combator was refined over centuries of constant genocidal war against a superhuman enemy. It's basic principle was the same as a laser-torpedo, and had as much punch as a Small Laser, plus electromagnetic effects on the target, and had a five thousand shot magazine. It included a solium grenade launcher, which was basically a man-portable nuclear warhead. For close-in fighting was a monomolecular bayonet woven from artificial diamond, plus a piezoelectric impact device in the shoulder-stock, designed to be slammed into a Cylon and overload it's systems.

If worse came to worst, the bastards would pay the price to get her people home before she would.


End file.
